Through feigned ignorance he was finding that he was having to knock the bottom out of his already low opinion of the ungrateful inhabitants of Sinanju.
"Woe are we to live in this time," a man said. "To have the greatness of Sinanju squandered on this white."
"Yes," lamented a decrepit old woman as Remo passed out of the square. "If that is our future, it almost makes me wish the old one was back as Reigning Master."
These last words stung Remo.
Not for himself. He could take whatever barbs the people of Sinanju hurled at him. His troubled thoughts were of another.
He had come to Sinanju four months previous as part of the Sinanju Time of Succession, the final rite of passage before his ascension to full Reigning Master. And now that it was finally time to leave, he was afraid he would be going alone.
He followed the path to where it veered away from the shore. The hills rose above the West Korea Bay.
A pair of tall rocks in the shape of curving horns framed the sparkling water. Climbing past the artificial rock formation, Remo found himself on a wide plateau.
The mouth of a deep cave yawned wide at the back of the hilltop. A wizened figure fussed near the opening.
The old man's skin was like leather left to bleach in the desert sun for a hundred years. It was as delicate as rice paper, pulled taut over an egg-shaped scalp. Above each shell-like ear, soft tufts of yellow-white hair danced in the breeze. A thread of beard touched his sharp chin.
Chiun, former Reigning Master of the House of Sinanju, wore a striking kelly-green kimono. Across the back, mirror-image dragons of bright red reared, their embroidered tails extending down the billowing sleeves. The piping at the neck and hems was spun gold. The robe's colors made the old man look like an ancient Christmas present, forgotten and left unopened for more than a century.
The kimono danced around the elderly Korean's ankles as he breezed around the cave's entrance. He fussed at the tiny copse of three trees that grew at the mouth of the cave.
Near the old man, a peculiar little animal stood on stumpy legs. It was no more than three feet tall, with a long body that looked like a blend of cow and camel. The sad-eyed creature chewed languidly on a pile of straw.
As Remo approached, Chiun's face remained bland. He didn't lift his head from his work.
"And to what do I owe this honor, that the Reigning Master would deign to visit this lowly villager?"
"Ha, ha," Remo said. "That's almost as funny as it was last night at supper, not to mention the thousand times before that."
With fingernails like curving daggers, Chiun snipped a dead branch from the hearty pine tree at which he worked.
"If my mean utterances do somehow bring offense to the delicate ears of the Reigning Master, I beg his forgiveness," he intoned seriously. "Now, if the most gracious and honored Reigning Master would kindly move his giant clubbed white feet, his servant would be most grateful."
Frowning, Remo moved and Chiun slipped by, humming happily to himself as he went.
"You know, if your attitude fell somewhere between the sarcastic ass-kissing and the full-out insults, that'd be okay with me."
Chiun paused in clipping another dead branch. The old man cast a dull eye on the Master who had succeeded him.
Remo sighed. "Just a thought," he said.
"Our new Reigning Master is truly compassionate. How kind of you to postpone this new flirtation with thinking until spring. It would have been cruel to force the mice who lodge in your brain out into the snow."
"Yeah, I'm in real tight with the North Korean SPCA," Remo said dryly. "Speaking of animals, are you sure it's safe to drag that thing around with you?" He aimed his chin at the strange creature near the cave.
The old man glanced at the sad-eyed animal.
"I appreciate the company," Chiun replied. "It is an improvement over what I am used to."
"I'll buy you a dog," Remo said. "That thing was built out of genetically engineered spare parts by a certifiable psycho. It's probably hatching diseases that don't even have names yet. Plus it's ugly as all hell."
"Do not say such things about Remo," Chiun scolded.
Remo frowned. "And that's another thing. I don't appreciate you giving it my name."
"I meant no disrespect," Chiun replied. "I only wished to honor our village's newest Reigning Master."
When he looked up at his former pupil, Remo noted the old man's eyes. He had been doing that a lot lately.
Chiun's hazel eyes had always been much younger than his years. For a time there had been a growing weariness in them. Remo hadn't even noticed until the weariness was gone. It had disappeared four months before. Of late, there seemed a spark of renewed vigor in his teacher's eyes.
It was a thing Remo was not allowed to mention. During the Time of Succession, Remo and Chiun had been separated. While Remo was elsewhere in the world, Chiun had come back to Sinanju alone.
Something had happened to his teacher while they were apart. Something had restored the old man's fresh, youthful outlook. But whatever it was, Chiun was not yet ready to share. Remo had asked a few times.
"When I understand," was all Chiun would say, his voice mysterious. And that ended discussion on the subject.
Remo was understandably curious, but he respected his teacher's privacy. As the old man pruned the trees, Remo wondered again what had happened with Chiun. He had the distinct impression it was something big.
Chiun seemed to sense his pupil's unspoken thought.
Papery lips puckered as he worked his way around the far side of the pine. "How do you feel?" Chiun asked, preemptively changing the subject.
"Not sprouting any extra arms or eyes, if that's what you mean," Remo said. "I'm one hundred percent me."
"You say that like it is a good thing," Chiun said.
"From where I was four months ago, you better believe it is. Don't get me wrong. It was good those couple of days. You know, to see. That's still with me. But as for being something other than Remo Williams, not anymore."
Briefly during his Time of Succession ordeal, Remo had been given a glimpse of something larger than himself. For years Chiun had maintained that his pupil was the fulfillment of an ancient Sinanju prophecy. The old man claimed that Remo was the avatar of Shiva, the Hindu god of destruction. There had been moments in Remo's life that appeared to confirm this. Whenever some strange occurrence during their association arose to bolster Chiun's claim, Remo turned a blind eye. For years it was the eight-hundred-pound gorilla sitting in the corner of his life that he studiously ignored.
There was a reason why he chose to ignore it. In his secret heart, Remo was afraid. Afraid that if it were true, that if some ancient force dwelled within him, his own days as an individual were numbered. For if he was merely a vessel, Shiva was simply awaiting the day to spring forth and consume him utterly. And when that day finally came, the god would win and there would be no more of Remo Williams.
It was a fear he had lived with for as long as he had quietly believed the truth of Chiun's words. All that was different now. For a little while, Remo had seen what his future would be.
It was impossible to put into words. He had tried to explain it to Chiun several times. It was a feeling of... completeness like he had never before experienced. The world and everything in it-including Remo Williams-finally made sense. When Remo had told Chiun this last part, the old man strongly disputed the possibility that Remo could ever make sense. Remo had dropped the matter.
The god was gone and the man remained, but Remo no longer had the fear that he would be whisked into the ether, a forgotten soul, cast into eternal nothingness.
Reflecting on the experience, Remo felt another momentary shudder of peace. He watched quietly as Chiun stooped to collect the twigs he had trimmed from the trees.
"Kye Pun's here," Remo said all at once. "He heard back from the last Time of Succession country. The last body has been shipped and acknowledged. The new Reigning Master of the House
of Sinanju has now been officially introduced to all the important courts of the world."
At this, Chiun only grunted.
There was a long moment during which neither man said a word. Chiun finished gathering his sticks. On shuffling feet, he carried them to the open mouth of the cave. As he laid them carefully inside, Remo finally broke the silence.
"I'm going back, Chiun," he announced all at once.
The old man turned slowly. His expression was unreadable. "How soon?"
"Soon. I haven't checked in with Upstairs in ages. Smitty's probably wondering if I'm dead again." A thought occurred. He turned from his teacher, cupping his hands to his mouth. "Hey, Pun!" he hollered in the direction of the village. "You nimrods get the phone working yet?"
Although he should have been too far away for anyone other than Chiun to hear him, his words carried easily across the village far below. Somehow the sound avoided the ears of the people, who were busily engaged in their daily business of hanging around doing nothing. Like a vocal dagger it landed only on the ears to which it was directed, those of the North Korean general, who was still using his hankie to polish rocks over on the bluff near the House of Many Woods.
Far, far on the other side of the village, Kye Pun scrambled to his feet. There was panic on his face. He twisted left and right, looking for ghosts.
"Over here, you doof!" Remo yelled.
Kye Pun's eyes were drawn to the source of the voice. Squinting, he saw the impossibly tiny speck of Remo standing way off in the distance, on the flat hill in the shadow of one of the Horns of Welcome. "The phone!" Remo yelled. "Is it working?"
Kye Pun took in a deep breath. "The work was completed this morning, Master!" he screamed at the top of his lungs.
More than a few heads in the village turned his way. The villagers had no idea why the North Korean general was standing up on the bluff with a dripping hankie and shouting like a lunatic to himself.
Across the village, Remo turned to his teacher. "Phone works. I guess I can finally call Smitty."
"You need not have waited four months," Chiun said. "You could have phoned your emperor from Pyongyang."
With some sadness, Remo noted the "your" emperor.
"I don't like Pyongyang. Too many Pyongyangers for one thing. Plus I have it on good authority that a young man puts his virtue at risk just walking down the street there."
"And so you remained here," Chiun said. "Which I suppose means that you now like Sinanju?"
"Parts of it," Remo said. He looked around. Below, the morning sun was burning steam off the thatched roofs and mud streets. With the rising steam came the rising stink. "A part of it," he admitted. "Pretty much just the you part."
Chiun could feel the sympathetic waves emanating from his pupil. He turned his weathered face to Remo. "And so you thought to extend your time here. Why? To watch your poor old Master in his dotage? To mope around and stare me to an early grave? I told you before. I have a future."
Remo released months of frustration in an exhale of angry air.
"Of what?" he asked. "Really, Chiun. What? Pruning hedges? Taking care of Flossie over there?" He waved a hand at the homely little animal. "You're retired, Little Father. And I know the rules. First I become Reigning Master. At some point after that, I get a pupil of my own. As soon as I do that, the retired ex-Reigning Master is required by tradition to climb into that cave over there like Punxsatawney Phil, and we all pretend you're dead."
"That has been the tradition for many years," Chiun admitted, nodding agreement.
"Well, it's stupid. But you're this big stickler for tradition, so I know one morning I'm going to turn around and you're gonna be squirreled away in the back of that cave. I say screw it. You're better than a freaking hole in the ground. You're not ready for retirement."
Chiun considered his wards thoughtfully.
"No," the Korean said eventually, the light of wisdom dawning in his young eyes. "You are right."
Remo felt a tingle of hope in his chest.
"Yes, Remo, you are correct," Chiun insisted firmly. "I am ready for something else."
"Yeah?" Remo asked, a hint of relief in his voice.
The old man's jaw was firmly set. "I am ready for breakfast," he announced with certainty. Unhooking the leash from the rock, he led the strange little animal past his pupil.
"Come, Remo," the wizened Korean said to the creature. The animal struggled on short legs to follow. Beast in tow, Chiun headed back down the rocky path to the village.
"On the other hand, I could always toss you in there myself and roll a rock in front of the door," Remo called after his retreating back.
"If that is the wish of our beneficent new Reigning Master, this humble retired villager would have no choice but to obey," Chiun called back. "After breakfast."
And he was gone.
Alone on the bluff, Remo glanced at the dark mouth of the cave. Only a few months before, he had seen a hint of his own future. Now, looking into that cave was like staring into the future of his teacher. Cold and unavoidable.
A dark chill gripped his heart.
Turning his back on the cave, Remo headed down the rock-lined path to Sinanju.
Chapter 3
Captain Frederick Lenn had sailed his ship beneath the proud shadow of Lady Liberty in New York Harbor and down the Eastern Seaboard of the United States.
He had been blessed with calm seas and good weather, something for which Captain Lenn was grateful. The Caribbean Sea was a sheet of glass. He could have skipped a flat stone all the way to Puerto Rico. The perfect blue water sparkled as he dropped anchor, barely making a splash or ripple.
It was truly a beautiful day. Unfortunately, Captain Lenn was too busy to enjoy it.
Lenn had spent his life on or near the ocean. He had enlisted in the Navy at nineteen, a few years before Vietnam began to ooze up into the nation's consciousness. When the war was over and his hitch was up, he drifted from job to job. Somehow he always wound up near water.
He repaired fishing nets in Nova Scotia, worked as a night watchman at a cranberry bog on Cape Cod and even opened an unsuccessful fried-fish restaurant near the U.S. Naval Academy in Annapolis.
A stint in the merchant marines led to a long career with a passenger cruise line. He retired from that job two years earlier with a captain's rank, a nice pension and-still fit at the age of sixty-two-the promise of a long and healthy life of shuffleboard and Thursday-night bingo.
After two weeks of sunny retirement, Frederick Lenn was going out of his bird. Within three weeks he had a new job.
It was not a luxury cruise liner this time. But he was a captain again. And with the command of his own vessel and a rolling deck beneath his feet, there was nothing that could destroy the romantic allure the ocean had for Captain Frederick Lenn.
Sure, other ships had names that challenged the human spirit like Endeavor or Enterprise. Or called to mind great historical figures like Washington, Grant and Nimitz, or places like Alabama, Maine and Virginia. But a rose was still a rose no matter what you called it.
So Captain Lenn's ship was called 12-837. It was a serviceable name. It might not inspire poets or balladeers, but then Samuel Coleridge and Gordon Lightfoot probably had a bugaboo about garbage scows.
So what if 12-837 hauled trash around the high seas? It was still Captain Frederick Lenn's boat and he treated her with the love and tenderness he had failed to show either of his two ex-wives and his three estranged children.
On the bridge of his ship, Captain Lenn looked back across the mountain of trash that was mounded behind him. The scow was like a long flat pan floating in the sparkling sea. The bridge sat at one end, a rusted rectangular box. The windows were weathered, filled with pits and scratches.
The smell was strong, even in the closed-off bridge. This was New York City trash. The worst of what the Rome or Athens of the modern world considered junk. Seagulls flapped all around the massive pile, leaving blobs of white everywhere they went.<
br />
"How is it they crap more than they eat?" asked Lenn's first officer.
Lenn glanced at the young man who was peering out the window beside his captain. Besides Frederick Lenn and his first officer there were only two other crewmen that served aboard 12-837.
"How long till Briton Bay flags us in?" Captain Lenn asked, ignoring the man's question. "Nothing is moving from the docks. They're saying now it could be days."
"That damn Globe Summit," Lenn complained. "They've got politicians from around the world in there. And their state departments and security. Why they couldn't put us off for another week I'll never know."
"They wanted to make sure they've got enough shit to dump in that machine of theirs," the first officer replied.
They had seen the Vaporizer unveiling on the news from their cramped crew quarters.
Lenn sighed. "I guess we get paid no matter what."
Lenn rubbed his fingers through his shock of gray hair. It felt dirty. It would have been nice to take a few days in Mayana, maybe a night or two in a hotel. Time away always made his return to his boat that much sweeter. But there was no way that was happening now. The whole of New Briton was booked solid. And now, as the country that was going to solve the world's waste disposal problem, things were going to get even more insane.
"I just hope we have enough provisions if they keep us stuck out here." Lenn scooped up a pair of binoculars.
There were many other scows in the same metaphorical boat as his. So many, the crews had come up with a name. "Garbage City" was rapidly filling this part of the Caribbean to capacity, with more scows on the way.
"It's getting pretty tight out there," Lenn commented as he passed his binoculars to starboard, aft. As he spoke, something caught his eye. He almost missed it through the flocks of crazed seagulls.
Another scow-this one from Mexico-was anchored nearby. When he trained his binoculars fully, he saw a thin line of black smoke curling up from the far side of the ship.
"Have we gotten any radio messages from next door?" Lenn asked his first officer.
The younger man had left the window. "No, why?" he asked absently, not looking up.
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