"Herons?" asked Chiun, not understanding.
Pullyang threw himself at Chiun's feet. "I only left to call the villagers back after they fled the coming of the purple birds. They had all deserted the village for the hills. I went after them when the birds were gone."
"You left the House of the Masters unguarded!" shrieked Chiun.
"For minutes only," protested Pullyang.
"Minutes! An empire can fall in seconds."
"No harm was done," Pullyang promised. "I examined the door. It was locked."
"Did you enter?"
"No, I would have had to break the door. That is forbidden."
"Not when it assures that all my property is safe. Come, Remo, we must see to the treasure."
"What's the rush?" Remo said testily. "If it's gone, it's gone. The trail won't get any colder. I want to see Mah-Li. Why isn't she here?"
"Do not be a complete fool. It is forbidden for you to see her. You are to be married."
"What does that have to do with anything?" asked Remo.
"The bride is always placed in seclusion before she is wed. It is traditional in this country. You will see her at the ceremony. "
"When? Next year?"
"No, tomorrow. The wedding is scheduled for tomorrow," snapped Chiun. "Now, are you coming?"
"Tomorrow? Really, Chiun? No tricks?"
"No tricks. Now, will you come?"
"I'm with you," said Remo.
At the door to the House of the Masters, Chiun examined the wood with a critical eye.
"There," said Remo. "It's still sealed."
"We shall see," replied Chiun, pressing the top panels, which released the inner locks. Then he removed the bottom panel, undid the dowel, and pushed the door open.
Remo followed him in. Old Pullyang lit tapers on the floor. Light swelled in the main room, revealing stacks of gold and treasure surrounding the low teak throne of the Master of Sinanju.
"The treasure's still here," Remo pointed out.
"There is more than one treasure of Sinanju," sniffed Chiun, stepping into the next room, where his steamer trunks reposed. Chiun fell upon these and snapped open each lid until all seventeen displayed their contents.
"Looks fine to me," said Remo.
"Someone has been in here," Chiun said softly.
"Says who?" Remo demanded.
"Say I. Look," Chiun said, lifting pinched fingers to Remo's nose.
Remo looked. Something like a silver thread hung from Chiun's fingertips.
"A hair," he said. "So what?"
"Not just any hair, but the hair of the Master Wang."
"Wang?"
"Yes, it is customarily stretched across the receptacle of the oldest, most sacred scrolls of Sinanju and anchored at either end by the saliva of the current Master. It is an honored Sinanju tradition."
"I think it's gotten around since then," Remo said dryly.
"It lay loose, not anchored."
"Maybe it came loose on its own," suggested Remo.
"The adhesive power of Sinanju Masters' saliva is legendary," said Chiun. "This hair was pushed aside by an intruding hand. I must count my scrolls to see if any are missing. Meanwhile, it is your duty to inventory the treasure. "
"And what shall I do, Master?" asked Pullyang.
"You sit in the corner, facing the wall. Your carelessness may have cost Sinanju a priceless relic. I will decide your punishment later."
"Hey, don't be so hard on him," said Remo. "It sounds like he had a good reason for going."
Chiun simply glared at Remo.
"Why don't I check on the treasure?" Remo said, slipping out of the room.
When Remo returned to report that the treasure seemed intact, Chiun nodded absently.
"It is as I thought," he said. "Nothing was taken. Not treasure, not scrolls. But some of the histories of Sinanju have been read, for the ribbons are not tied correctly."
"What do you make of it?" Remo wanted to know.
"Tulip has been here."
"Yeah, I guess we can assume that. Let's get Pullyang's story. "
Old Pullyang squatted in a dark corner of the House of the Masters, his face to the wall.
"Arise, wretch, and face your Master," Chiun commanded.
Pullyang got to his feet and faced Remo. He trembled. "No, not him. I am Master here," spat Chiun. Pullyang turned like a dog. "Yes, Master."
"Your story," Chiun demanded.
And Pullyang babbled a long, convoluted tale of the devil herons which had come down from the stars because poor old Pullyang had foolishly looked up at them. He told about their leathery purple wings and their baleful green eyes and how they perched on the Horns of Welcome, casting no shadows, and how the villagers fled their gaze. All but poor loyal Pullyang, who waited and waited until at last the birds were gone and it was safe for the villagers to return. But the villagers did not know that, and so Pullyang had to go and seek them out.
"I was gone but a few minutes," he finished piteously.
"In which direction did these birds fly away?"
"I did not notice, O Master."
"If they stared at you, and you at them, how could they depart unseen by you?" Chiun demanded.
"It may have been that I closed my eyes momentarily, for their gaze was awful. It seemed to freeze my very soul. "
Chiun placed his hands on his hips and turned to Remo. "What do you make of his prattling?"
"I don't think they were herons, Little Father," Remo said.
"Of course they were herons. This man knows herons when he sees them."
"They were too big for herons," muttered Pullyang.
"Then what were they?" challenged Chiun.
"I do not know," Pullyang quavered. "I have never heard of birds such as these, even in tales of old."
"Nor have I. Therefore they must have been herons-very large herons."
Remo shook his head. "He wasn't describing herons. He was describing pterodactyls."
"I have never heard of birds called that," Chiun countered.
"Pterodactyls aren't birds," said Remo in a strange voice. "They are lizards, I think. But they have wings, like bats."
"There is no such thing in all of Sinanju history," snapped Chiun.
"Were they like bats?" Remo asked Pullyang.
"Their wings, yes. But they had heron-demon faces. I did not know what they were."
"Whatever they were," Remo said, "they sure didn't sneak into this place while the villagers were up in the hills. That means somebody sent them-probably to scare everyone off so he could slip in unseen and go through your scrolls. "
"There are no such birds as you describe, Remo," Chiun insisted. "I think Pullyang is making this up."
"Didn't the villagers admit they saw the birds too?"
"It is a conspiracy, then. The villagers themselves stole in to read the histories. And they will all be punished," added Chiun, looking at Pullyang severely.
"I don't think so," said Remo.
"I say again, there are no such creatures as this wretch describes."
"That's the weird part, Little Father. Pterodactyls don't exist anymore. They haven't existed in millions of years. They're dinosaurs. They all died out before Sinanju came along. "
"If that is so, how would you know of them?" demanded Chiun.
"I read about them when I was a kid. Every American kid knows about pterodactyls and dinosaurs."
"My ancestors would have mentioned such creatures if they existed," said Chiun with finality. "But just to be certain, I will look through my histories for mention of these terrorbirds. How do you spell the name?"
"Got me. But it starts with a P," Remo said.
"P?" sputtered Chiun. "You mean a T, do you not?"
"No, it's P, then T. The P is silent."
"You are making this up, aren't you?"
"No, honest," Remo insisted.
Turning to Pullyang, the Master of Sinanju said, "Go. I will decide your fate later."
&nb
sp; Old Pullyang lost no time in finding his way out of the House of the Masters.
"If there's nothing missing," Remo said after some thought, "then there's no real harm done."
"Yes, there is. Whoever entered this dwelling knew how to work the locks. That is a secret reserved for Masters of Sinanju only."
"I didn't do it," protested Remo.
"Nor did I. "
"Then who?"
"I know not. But I will find out. Perhaps as early as the morning. But for now, I am weary and require sleep. Tomorrow will be a stressful day, for I must watch helplessly while the white upon whom I have bestowed the gift of Sinanju weds a maiden he barely knows."
"I'll ignore that crack," said Remo. "But only because I'm in a good mood."
"No doubt you would tell jokes at your own execution."
Chapter 22
He changed planes in London for a KAL flight to Seoul.
He had been a Spaniard during the first leg of his journey, with haughty Castilian features and an inner composure that made people hesitate to intrude upon his thoughts. The simulacrum kept the couple occupying the adjoining seats from bothering him with tourist chatter. For good measure, he had held a paperback book open on his lap, focusing on it, but not reading. It kept the beast inside of him under control.
The flight was uneventful.
Phase One was complete. Remo and Chiun were cut off from their American employer. They would never again work for that country.
At the KAL counter he insisted upon a window seat. The ticket girl was happy to oblige.
"Here you are, Mr. . . ." She paused to look at the ticket. "Mr. Nuihc," she said smilingly.
"Thank you," he said. His name was not Nuihc. Nor was it Osorio, the name he had used on the earlier flight. Now he was a moon-faced Korean, impassive and soft of voice. In the men's room he checked himself in the mirror. Even the mirror reflected the lie that was his face. Yes, it was a good face. No one would bother him during the flight. And that was good, because if the beast started killing, it would kill them all, including the flight crew. And that would be suicide because he did not know how to pilot the big airliner.
As it happened, the seats next to him were empty. He relaxed. This was better than he had hoped. He shut his eyes and dozed.
He awoke when the stewardess screamed.
Smoke boiled from the forward galley. Yellow oxygen masks dropped from the overhead compartments.
A steward in a neat uniform grabbed a dry chemical extinguisher from an overhead rack and doused the flames. After a few minutes the captain came over the intercom and joked that he shouldn't have turned off the no-smoking signs so soon. He explained that a microwave in the galley had shorted and caught fire. An accident.
"Mr. Nuihc" did not think it was an accident. It must have been the beast, the beast inside him that wanted everyone on the plane dead. It had caused the short.
He decided not to sleep for the remainder of the flight. The blond woman came down the aisle after lunch had been served. He had not noticed her during the preboarding wait at Heathrow. She had been seated in front. She was tall and athletic, her blond hair braided in coils on either side of her womanly face. Her eyes were cornflower blue, but as she passed down the aisle they shifted color like a turbulent sea, going from blue to green and green to gray and back again.
She led a small child-who was practically her image except for some residual baby fat in the cheeks-to the rest rooms at the rear of the aircraft.
He recognized the mother, but not the little child, who was bundled up in a snowsuit and parka hood.
Averting his gaze, he gripped the seat armrests tightly. No, not now, he told himself. Please, not now. This was too good, too perfect. You can have her later, beast. Not now. Later. I promise. Later.
But the beast was raging within him. It would have to be unleashed. Below, the ocean sparkled. Desperately his eyes sought a target, a release for the unstoppable force building within. An oil tanker slid into view. Perfect. He focused on it. Silently, it went up in a ball of fire. The plane vibrated in the turbulence of the shock wave.
The blond woman and the child passed him, clutching the seats to keep their balance. Satiated, the beast allowed them to live.
He closed his eyes tightly and kept them shut until the faint natural scent of the woman passed him on the return trip and he knew they were seated and out of his line of sight.
He relaxed again.
In Seoul he would hire a vehicle and see how far north the driver would take him. If necessary, he would walk across the demilitarized zone. It would not be hard. He would walk all the way to his destination if he had to. There was no rush. In North Korea the beast would be fed. And there would be plenty of food for the beast within him, because he knew that the tall woman's ultimate destination, like his own, was the village of Sinanju.
Chapter 23
Mah-Li wept.
She knelt in the middle of the floor of her house, her eyes downcast, regarding the bamboo floor. Rice-paper squares were pasted over her eyes to inhibit her vision. Her long black hair had been put up at the back of her neck and her face was powdered the traditional bridal white. Her tears soaked the rice paper and cut channels through the face powder.
"I long so to see my Remo," she said.
"Hush, child," cautioned one of the elder women of the village, a crone name Yuli, as she repaired the streaks in Mah-Li's makeup. "Custom must be observed. You will see your husband tomorrow at the wedding. You have waited a year. Is one more night too much?"
"I must know if he still loves me," Mah-Li said plaintively. "He did not write. He always writes. What if he rejects me? What if he has found a new lover in the land where he was born?"
"Master Chiun has proclaimed that the wedding will take place tomorrow. Is that not assurance enough? Think upon your fortune, to marry the future Master of the village. That he is white is not important. After all, you are an orphan. You would have no dowry without Master Chiun, and no prospects for marriage."
Mah-Li bowed her head low. Not in shame, but because custom demanded a bride-to-be feign humility on the night before her wedding.
"I know," she said.
"A year ago you were Mah-Li, the orphan. Tomorrow at this time you will be Mah-Li, the next Master's wife."
"I know," repeated Mah-Li. "But a feeling of dread has come over me ever since the purple birds came. Something clutches at my heart. I know not what it is. I wish Remo were here."
"He is not far. Think on that. I must go now."
After Yuli had gone, Mah-Li tried to keep the rice-paper squares in place over her eyes, but she could not. Her tears had soaked into the flour adhesive.
Mah-Li did not hear the footsteps approach the house. The door was not locked, because in Sinanju ordinary homes were never locked. Out of the corner of her eye Mah-Li saw the door open, and she caught a glimpse of a tall figure.
Her indrawn breath was quick and sharp. Remo she told herself. But why had he come? It was against tradition for the groom to invade the bride's quarters before the wedding.
Mah-Li kept her eyes riveted to the floor. Her peripheral vision told her that the man was white. It must be Remo. There were no other whites in all of Sinanju, and no whites in all the world, so far as Mah-Li knew, who walked with the soft cat-padding step of a Master of Sinanju.
Mah-Li's heart pounded within her, wild and uncertain. Whatever Remo wanted, she decided, it was up to him to speak first. Even if it was to tell her that he no longer wanted to marry Mah-Li, poor Mah-Li, the orphan.
Mah-Li closed her liquid eyes and held her breath, waiting.
Chapter 24
Remo Williams awoke to the sound of impatient clapping. "Up, up, lazy one," barked the Master of Sinanju. "Would you sleep through your wedding day?"
"Oww, not so close to my ear, okay, Chiun? I'd like to be able to hear the ceremony." Remo sat up on his sleeping mat, blinking the sleep from his eyes. The Master of Sinanju stood dressed in a flowi
ng white jacket over white cotton trousers. He wore a black stovepipe hat on his nearly hairless head. It was tied under his chin with string.
"What are you supposed to be?" Remo asked, getting up.
"The father of the groom," snapped Chiun, turning to rummage through a pile of clothes heaped on a tatami mat. "But perhaps if I stand in the back during the ceremony, no one will recognize me."
"Very funny," said Remo. "What's that stuff?"
"Your wedding garments."
"There's enough cloth in this pile to outfit the Bolshoi Ballet. I can't wear all that."
"These are the wedding vestments of past Masters," said Chiun, holding up a green-and-blue costume that might have suited a geisha girl. "We must find one that will fit you."
"This isn't exactly my style," commented Remo, examining the cloth. It was pure silk.
"You have no style. But with the proper garments that sad fact might go unnoticed long enough for you to get through the ceremony. Ah, here is a worthy one."
Remo took the offered garment.
"Very colorful," he said dryly. "In fact, I don't think there's a single color in existence not on this thing. Hmmm, wait a minute, I don't see puke yellow. Oh, here it is, in the shape of a cat. See? Under the left armpit."
"That is a badger," snapped Chiun, ripping the cloth from Remo's hand and tossing it onto a second pile. "And you are obviously not worthy to dress in the garment I wore at my wedding."
"That was yours?" said Remo, dumbfounded.
"Try this one. It belonged to Master Ku. "
"I've never looked right in snakeskin," protested Remo. "Besides, this would just about fit a midget if he didn't button it."
"That is exactly the problem," said Chiun, throwing the garment of the Master Ku onto the second pile. "All past Masters of Sinanju have been properly sized. You, on the other hand, are a big clod-footed freak. None of these will fit you."
"How about if I go as I am?" suggested Remo, spreading his arms.
Chiun looked Remo up and down. Remo was dressed in the white T-shirt and black slacks he'd worn to Sinanju. Chiun made a sour face.
"I will work something out," he said, returning to the piles of clothes.
Remo, seeing that this was going to take some time, assumed a lotus position in the middle of the floor and cupped his chin in his hands.
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