Chiun shrugged and kept looking out the window. Remo shook his head. Something was wrong. Chiun would fight for hours, normally before giving up on a major point like an apology. Something was on his mind.
"Chiun, what do you know about this assassin? What about the silver knife with the horse on it? What aren't you telling me?"
Chiun sighed. "Wait," he said, and went to one of his trunks and carefully removed a white robe from it. He went into the bathroom to change out of his blue morning robe.
Remo recognized the brocaded white robe as Chiun's teaching garment. He put it on when he was going to tell Remo something of great importance. All too often, the thing of great importance turned out to be a lecture on the beauties of Ung poetry or the proper way to steam a fish or how to chew rice into a liquid and extract all its nutrition, without swallowing any of its solid pulp.
Chiun came back and slowly sank into a sitting position on the floor facing Remo. He settled as softly as dust particles landing on furniture in an unused room.
He folded his hands inside the sleeves of his white kimono and looked dolefully at Remo, who resisted the impulse to tell Chiun to get on with it. With an American, he would do that. With Chiun, all things came in due time, due time often being long after Remo's attention span had been stretched to its limits, then shattered.
"This is very important," Chiun said, "so you will kindly pay attention."
"Yes, Little Father."
"You know that in the past I have occasionally spoken less than highly of certain Oriental peoples," Chiun offered.
"Occasionally?" Remo said. "If I remember it right, the Chinese are slothful and eat cat meat, the Japanese are grasping and avaricious and the Vietnamese would insert it into a duck if the opening was bigger."
"Please," Chiun said. "Whose story is this?"
"Yours, Little Father. Go on," Remo said.
"It is true the Japanese are grasping and avaricious, and that is why I always tell you to have no dealings with them because one never knows when they will turn on you."
"Right. Got it," Remo said impatiently.
"I had not wanted to tell you this until you were older." Chiun said.
"Chiun, I'm a grown man."
"In the ways of Sinanju, but a child. With much to learn."
"Right. Much to learn."
Remo looked ceilingward. He wondered who had put up the ceiling tile. He could see blue-point nails in the cracks between the crumbly cardboard tiles.
"The Japanese are also given to much exaggeration. For instance, they pretend that their emperors were descended from the sun goddess."
"Right. Sun goddess," Remo said. He wondered about the golf course Pruiss had closed down when he took over the clubhouse. Did it play long or short? Where there many water holes? He'd have to go out and walk it sometime.
"This belief of the Japanese is untrue as are most of their beliefs." Chiun paused. "Remo. I don't really know how to tell you this."
"Right. Don't know how to tell me." Maybe he'd play a round of golf before he left.
"There was a tribe in Korea once called the Koguryo," Chiun said. "They were a fierce and warlike people from the south who overran much of what is now northern Korea. That, of course, is where the village of Sinanju is."
"Right," Remo said. "Sinanju in the north." He stopped and thought a moment. "These kukuru..." he said.
"Koguryo," Chiun corrected.
"Did they conquer Sinanju?" Remo asked.
"Of course not," Chiun said. "It is written in the annals of Sinanju that they attempted to do that but the Master of Sinanju-this was not the great Wang because it was before his time-mobilized the people of the village and drove them off. In fact, so great were their losses that the Koguryo left North Korea and returned to the southern part of that country."
"So?"
"So their warlike ways had impressed many of the Sinanju village. And many of the youth chose to ride away with them. Among them were the men of a family called Wa."
"I see," said Remo who was beginning to fade again. What did any of this have to do with the assassin? Koguryo? Wa? Who cared?
"Now you may not understand this, Remo," said Chiun, "because all you white people have big heads and big noses and big feet and big hands. But in a land like Korea where people are the correct size, they look different upon such things as size. The people of this Wa family were very small. In fact, Wa means 'little people.' Often, the children of the village made fun of the Wa family because they were tiny. For this reason, they went to the Master of Sinanju and they said, 'Glorious Master, the people mock us because of our small size. What is it that we may do about this because it is unfair.'"
Chiun paused again.
"And the Master-did I tell you this was not the great Wang?"
"Right. Not the great Wang," Remo said.
"Good. The Master then said, 'A man's courage or skill is not shown by the size of the body surrounding his heart. The people are wrong. And you must learn to win the villagers' admiration for your acts.' He told them they must become expert at something and this would make the people admire them and stop their insults.
""What kind of thing?' he was asked, because the Wa were a very stupid family, as is often the way with people who are too small," Chiun said.
"And the Master said, 'Learn to use a weapon with great skill. They will admire your skill and then will not make fun of your size. And even those who are too foolish to admire skill will fear the result of yours and so they will no longer mock you either. This way will you prevail,'"
"Right," Remo said. "Prevail."
"So, with the help of the Master, the Wa practiced and through generations they became experts with knives and people no longer laughed at them because of their small size. But, given respectability, they now yearned for power. So when the Koguryo attacked Sinanju, instead of using their skills to help the village, they made a secret agreement with the invaders that they would assassinate the Master and this would leave the village defenseless."
Remo straightened his back and began to listen. He had heard the word knives in there somewhere. Besides Chiun's voice had risen in intensity and pitch, which meant he was about to tell of people trying to commit the most terrible crime of all, trying to zap the Master of Sinanju.
Chiun looked at Remo as if for confirmation that this was a terrible act by the Wa people. Remo tried to look saddened.
"But, of course they failed," Chiun said. "Even though the skill of their blades had been given them by the Master himself, the pupils were no match for the teacher and he turned away their blades when they fell upon him and he did away with the Wa family. Except for one. This one, the third eldest son, fled. The Master took one of the knives from one of the bodies that surrounded him and on the blade, with his fingernail, he etched the outline of a horse because this was the symbol of an outsider in those days and he tossed the knife after the son who fled. And he told him that forever after he would be an outcast from the Village of Sinanju and that he should go with his Koguryo Masters and do their bidding and many such insults did he visit upon the unfortunate Wa." Chiun smiled as he imagined that ancient Master winning the word battle with the third eldest Wa, while bodies were stacked knee deep around him.
"Those Wa were always sneaky," Remo said, hoping the comment was appropriate.
"Correct," said Chiun. "I am pleased that you are listening. The Master also leveled a curse upon the House of the Wa in a special poem he made up for the occasion."
"Please, Chiun," Remo said, "no poems."
"It is a very important poem," said Chiun.
"Let's keep moving right along," Remo said.
"It is a very short poem," Chiun said.
"It can't be short enough," said Remo. "What happened to the remaining Wa?"
Chiun looked hurt.
"The Wa survivor went away with the Koguryo and they returned to the southern part of Korea to Kaya Province from which they emanated. Soon they controlled all
of the South but the appetite of the conqueror is never sated and because they knew the Master awaited them if they again went north, instead they went east, across the Sushima Strait and into Japan's Kyushu Island. They built boats to carry their horses because there were no horses in Japan at that time. By now, the crafty Wa had become the chief advisor to the leader of the Koguryo."
Chiun stopped as if that was the end of the story.
"Well?" asked Remo.
"That is it," said Chiun. "Except for the poem."
"No, no. That can't be it," Remo said. "I know there must be more than that."
"If you insist upon my filling in every little blank spot..."
"I do," Remo said.
"The Koguryo quickly conquered all of Japan because the people who were there then had no ability at all to defend themselves and the Koguryo were warlike and fearsome and besides they had the Wa to advise them and that is that."
"A few questions," Remo said.
"Why must you always ask questions when a story is perfectly clear?"
"You're telling me that this Kukuru..."
"Koguryo," Chiun said.
"They conquered Japan?"
"Correct."
"How long did they stay there?" Remo asked.
"Very long."
"What happened to the real Japanese?" Remo asked.
"They were eliminated by the order of the Wa," Chiun said. "All died. All but a few who hid in the north of Japan and still hide there today. These are called the Ainu, and they are a large, white-haired, hairy people."
"So what you're telling me is that the Japanese emperors aren't descended from the sun goddess or whatever but from these Korean horseback riders."
Chiun nodded sadly.
"You mean that the Japanese that you're always abusing are really Koreans who came across on boats?"
"You might say that if you were unkind," Chiun said. His hazel eyes blazed.
Remo laughed. "You mean you're related to Japanese?"
Chiun turned his head away angrily.
"What happened to the Wa?" Remo asked.
"He became the counselor, protector and bodyguard of king and emperor alike. He had many children who followed in his footsteps and to them he taught the ways of the knife as the Master, who was not the Great Wang, had taught them so many years before."
"And you think the guy who knifed Pruiss is one of the Wa?" Remo asked.
Chiun nodded. "I had heard their services were on the market. In the building across the street, I saw where the assassin stood. It was a spot where your weight made the floorboards creak. But they did not creak under my weight. The assassin was no heavier than me. And below there were other clues. The distance he had chosen for his attack. The angle of the knife wound. Then we saw on the grass below how he dragged the bodies of men across the grass because he had not the physical strength to carry them. He is a Wa, and this makes it very dangerous."
"For who?" Remo asked.
"For you," said Chiun.
"Why for me?"
"You would not hear the poem. It answers all," Chiun said.
"All right, all right. The poem," Remo said.
Chiun nodded again, as if the recitation were his right "You will remember, I told you the Master visited a curse upon the surviving Wa. That is the poem."
"What is it?" asked Remo.
"The Master said... it does not translate very well."
"Just give me the outlines," Remo said.
"The Master said to the Last Wa:
Because I have trained you in this evil,
I must be punished for your misdeeds.
I punish myself by not allowing myself to come after you and kill you.
This is my penance.
But, hear you this, evil one.
Through the countless ages of time will my sons hunt your sons.
I give this duty to generations unborn.
Young Masters of Sinanju will search out the Wa and kill them whenever they find them.
That is my curse. And your destiny.
This did the Master tell the Wa."
Chiun looked at Remo. "You understand now why this is dangerous for you?"
"No," Remo said.
"You are really a lump of clay," Chiun said. "I am the reigning Master of Sinanju. The Master's curse prevents me from striking down the Wa. You alone must do it, without my help."
Remo shrugged. "So we're facing a Sinanju-trained assassin," he said.
"Yes," said Chiun. He hung his head in shame.
"And the Japanese that you're always putting down are really your relatives," Remo said.
Chiun said nothing.
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself," Remo said.
Chiun looked up. "Remember," he said, "the Wa Japanese are not descended from the villagers of Sinanju. Just from the Koguryo who were an ugly people, whose only skill was in riding a horse."
"I never want to hear you putting down the Japanese again," Remo said. He shrugged. "Anyway, none of this helps. We still don't know who the Wa is working for. Who hired him?"
Chiun smiled. "Who knows? The Japs are a greedy and avaricious people. They'd work for anybody."
He rose swiftly to his feet indicating the lesson was over.
The telephone in the room rang and Smith's parched voice said, "You should know that Will Bobbin is in town."
"Who?"
"Will Bobbin," said Smith. "He flew in last night. He represents the fossil fuel industry, right out of their main New York offices."
"All right. I'll watch for him."
"And the passenger list showed that a woman who traveled only as Flamma arrived in Furlong County this morning."
"Got it," said Remo. He was still thinking about Will Bobbin's arrival. Perhaps Theodosia was right and the oil companies were behind the attack on Pruiss. Perhaps they had hired the Wa assassin to do him in.
"And we have the rundown on Rachmed Baya Bam that you asked for," Smith said.
"What's he all about?"
"He heads something called the Inner Light church. As far as we can make out, he is the only member, but he seems to make a living by being adopted by the rich. His brother is an Indian delegate to the United Nations."
"Baya Bam," Remo said. "The one who's always making anti-American speeches?"
"Yes," said Smith. "That one. From what we can gather, Rachmed is a pickpocket and was arrested once in Yankee Stadium at a World Series game. His brother's diplomatic immunity got him freed. And there are stories that the two of them run a particularly odious brothel in India, specializing in young girls."
After Smith had hung up, Remo went to Theodosia's apartment at the end of the broad hallway. She was sitting in a satin robe, facing a dressing table, putting fresh makeup around her eyes. Remo walked in without knocking and she looked up at him in surprise that softened to a smile of welcome. He saw his motel room keys on the dressing table.
Remo stood behind her, put his right hand on her shoulder and inspected her face in the mirror. He still found it hard to believe. Twenty-two steps and she had been almost impervious to them. That had never happened before. Chiun had once told him that Korean women were regularly exposed to all twenty-seven steps of "the method" as he called it, but Remo had seen the Korean women of Chiun's ancient village of Sinanju and he suspected that the twenty-seven steps might have been as much for the man's benefit as the woman's-to give him something to think about besides his partner and what she looked like.
"Do you know a woman named Flamma?" Remo asked.
"Flamma? What do you know about her?" Theodosia said. She turned on her bench to look at Remo.
"Who is she?" Remo asked.
"She works sometimes for Wesley," the young woman said. "She... er, entertains for him."
"What kind of work is... er, entertains?" Remo asked.
Theodosia paused. "Okay," she said, as if forcing herself to tell the truth. "She's kind of on the payroll as a hooker. When out-of-town bigshots visit Wes
ley, Flamma is assigned to make sure they enjoy themselves. She poses for some pictures for Gross too. What about Flamma?"
"She's in town."
Theodosia's face wrinkled up. Unconsciously she began to pick at her the polish on her shiny fingernails. "What the hell is she doing here?"
"I don't know. She arrived this morning. There's somebody else in town too."
"Who?"
"The name Will Bobbin mean anything to you?"
"No. Should it?"
"He's a big shot with the fuel industry."
She stood up quickly and looked at Remo, almost in triumph. "There," she said. "The oil business again. Those bastards."
"You're really sure about that, aren't you?" Remo asked.
"No one else had any reason to try to kill Wesley," she said. "No one but those people."
"All right," Remo said. He put his hands on the woman's shoulders and drew her close to him.
"Rachmed," he said.
She pulled away. "What about him?"
"He's a fraud," said Remo. "He's a pimp and a pickpocket. He runs a whorehouse for little girls."
Theodosia seemed to relax. "I know that, Remo. I know all about that."
"It doesn't bother you?"
"What Rachmed used to be isn't important," she said. "Right now, he's a healer and he's helping to heal Wesley."
"You don't really believe that about lifting up the blankets and letting the sun shine on his legs, do you?"
"What I think doesn't matter. What you think neither. What's important is that Wesley thinks it helps. He wants to live again. That's worth more than anything."
"Whatever you say." Remo tried to draw her to him. Twenty-two steps and she had shown almost no reaction. He would like to try that again.
She raised an arm between their bodies to keep him away from her, without it being an obvious rejection.
"You've been busy," she said. "How'd you find this all out?"
"Don't forget, lady, you're paying us top dollar. Enough money to hire people to help," Remo lied.
"When did Bobbin arrive?" she asked suddenly.
"Last night," Remo said.
"And last night our bodyguards were killed." She raised her hands and touched her fingertips to both cheeks. Remo noticed that her ring fingers were longer than her index fingers. "Those goddam oil people," she said. "I hope Flamma's not involved with them." She wrapped herself in her gown and walked away from Remo.
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