Bazinda looked up to see the old Asian. His thin fingers were slipping back into the sleeves of his kimono, which closed over the long, sharp nails. Making the connection, Bazinda shuddered.
"If there is not a Federal Express office in Nogongog, I will decree that one be established for your every need," he announced loftily, handing the head to his startled third-in-command, Super Sergeant Mobondo.
"And whistle us up a plane, will you?" asked the white boy with the thick wrists. "We're anxious to be on our way."
"You will not stay for the celebration feast?"
"What's for dinner?" asked Eurydice.
"Oui, " Ornphale chorused, "we have not eaten well in nearly a day. Only old tinned caviar."
"Are these harlots with you?" Bazinda asked.
"No," said Remo.
"In that case," Bazinda said, stepping up to pinch Eurydice on her fleshy arm, "you are both for dinner."
Eurydice and Omphale fell to the ground and beseeched Lord Bingo to intervene on their behalf.
In the end it cost Remo a case of golden apples to take the daughters of Mahout Feroze Anin off the revolutionary menu. He regretted it almost immediately.
"I am your slave," Omphale said, falling to her knees before Remo.
"I need a slave like a fish needs a wheel," said Remo.
"Then I am your love slave."
"You know what Bingo says about love slaves," said Remo.
"Then what will we be?" asked a tearful Eurydice. "You can be our personal stewardesses on the flight out of here," Remo decided.
ON THE AIR GHANA FLIGHT leaving Nogongog, Omphale and Eurydice wanted to know if Remo was someone famous.
Before he could answer, the Master of Sinanju said, "This is being investigated even as we speak."
"Why?"
"Because this poor man's parentage is uncertain. He is seeking his father."
"I am not," said Remo.
"There are those who believe he is the long-lost son of Montel Williams," whispered Chiun.
"Who is Montel Williams?" asked a hovering stewardess.
"Some talk-show guy," said Remo.
"Is he famous?" asked Eurydice.
"He's bald," said Remo. "I'm not."
"And rich," added Chiun.
"I am not Montel Williams's son. Montel Williams is black. I'm white."
"Perhaps," Chiun allowed. "I'm obviously white."
"You have a nice tan," the stewardess said. Omphale shot her a look full of daggers. Eurydice tried to intimidate her with a nail file clenched in a tight fist.
"You would too if you were being dragged all the way around the planet by him," said Remo, indicating Chiun.
"Is it true that you will inherit Montel Williams's millions when he dies?" asked Omphale.
"Montel Williams can keep his money," snapped Remo.
"Others," Chiun inserted, "believe him to be the illegitimate offspring of Clarence Williams the Third." Remo's brows knit together. "Clarence Williams the Third is black, too. How can I be the son of Clarence Williams the Third?"
"If San Fermin, a Christian saint, can be a Moor, you can be the son of Clarence Williams the Third," said Chiun.
Remo looked skeptical. "I don't believe San Fermin was a Moor. He probably had a deep tan."
"And Jesus was black," Chiun added.
"Jesus was not black."
"He was not white."
"Stuff it," said Remo, turning away.
"Master Pak met Jesus," Chiun said casually.
Remo looked interested again. "That so? What did he say about him?"
"He called him a long tallow with a short wick." Remo looked blank.
"That means that same thing as all hat and no cattle."
Remo grunted. "That shows how much Pak knew."
Chiun shrugged unconcernedly. "It has been barely two thousand years. The House is far older."
"Back to Clarence Williams the Third," said Eurydice. "Will you inherit his lands and title when he dies?"
"No."
"Could you be the son of Billy Dae Williams?" asked the still-hovering stewardess.
"He's black too," Remo answered wearily.
"You say that like there is something wrong with it."
Remo threw up his hands. "I didn't mean it that way. Look, can we just change the subject?"
The three women were only too willing to oblige. "Are you married?" asked Omphale.
"Or at least separated from your wife?" Eurydice asked.
"I don't have a wife," Remo growled.
The stewardess clucked in sympathy. "Any of us would be willing to marry you to save you from unhappy bachelorhood," she offered.
Remo folded his bare arms. "My bachelorhood is not unhappy."
"Then why are you so cranky?"
"I am not cranky," Remo shouted, storming off to the back of the cabin to sit by himself.
"He is not getting any, is he?" Omphale whispered to the Master of Sinanju.
Chiun shook his aged head sadly. "No sensible woman would have him."
"Why not?"
"It is not obvious? He is incurably cranky."
This made perfect sense to the Air Ghana stewardess, who nevertheless made sure Remo did not lack drinks, food or female companionship all the way across the Asian subcontinent.
"I don't need anything, unless it's information on where that old reprobate is taking me next," Remo snarled.
"I will ask," said the stewardess.
But it was Omphale who came back with the answer, along with a welter of scratches on her face. They were flecked with bits of gold, and remembering the stewardess's nails were gold painted, Remo figured there had been a cat fight over who would carry word to the back of the plane.
Another clue was the fact that Omphale was wearing the stewardess's green uniform, which was very snug in the hips and rather loose at the chest.
Omphale smiled triumphantly. "You are going to Nihon, the old man has told me."
"That's big help," Remo said glumly.
"Where the heck is Nihon?"
"It is the same as Japon."
"You mean Japan?"
"In French, the name is Japon."
"I wish countries would just pick one name and stick with them a few centuries," Remo complained.
"I have always thought this," Omphale said agreeably. "Is there anything I can get you now that I am your personal serf stewardess?"
"Yeah. A parachute."
To Remo's surprise, Omphale came back with a big fat one. Remo used it for a pillow and soon nodded off.
THE SKY WAS the color of lead and oysters. Remo found himself on the terraced side of a red hill. The terraces were paddies, and falling raindrops made them pucker and rill.
Standing bareheaded in the rain was a Master wearing green silk decorated with gold trim. He was ancient but carried himself with ramrod erectness as he approached Remo.
"I am Yong. No Master lived longer than I."
"Good for you," said Remo.
"I slew the last dragon and for the rest of my days drank dragon-bone soup. My days were very long because of dragon-bone soup."
Remo snapped his fingers. "Right. Chiun told me about you. He said you ate every bone so no succeeding Master had any."
"And for my greed I dwell in perpetual rain."
"At least there's rice."
Yong looked Remo up and down critically. "Where is your kimono?"
"Out of fashion."
"Your nails are too short. How can you fight?"
"Oh, I get by."
"The Masters who came after me were wrong. I saved a piece of the dragon's spine." Yong opened his fist. "I give it to you."
Remo took the piece of bone. It was gray and porous. "What am I supposed to do with it?"
"It is powerful medicine. You will know when the time comes."
And Yong walked back into the rain, which increased its tempo upon the beaten ground until the red mud ran.
Chapter 13
They said it was impossible for an American.
For a Japanese it was exceedingly difficult. This was well-known.
For a Korean it was unacceptable even if it were possible. Koreans were not Japanese, no matter what airs they took on. Chinese couldn't do it. Not the best Chinese man who was ever born. Not even if he trained until the end of time.