His words brought back their earlier conversation. "No," Remo said softly.
"Then be quiet." Resettling his robes, Chiun took on the pose of teacher. "Now, the people from whom Nuk sought employment were the ancestors of the Luzu. It was a dark time for our House. During Nuk's tenure as Master, there were few emperors in need of his services. The great treasure house in the village, while full from the efforts of previous Masters, was in danger. There was talk that the babies might one day have to be sent home to the sea."
"But there's tons of dough there," Remo suggested. "It'd hold the whole village for about a billion years."
"And at the end of that time?" Chiun said, his brow arched.
Remo sighed. "I know. Always plan ahead."
"That is correct," Chiun said with a crisp nod. "And so when the normal avenues failed to yield work for him, Nuk did travel to the land of the Luzu, and made he of these impoverished nomads a powerful nation."
"How's that?" Remo asked. "If they didn't have any money, why would Nuk come within a country mile of them? I thought we only ever went where the cash was."
The old Korean was growing uncomfortable. "Nuk took the promise of future earnings from the Luzu. For in the hills near these simple tribesmen were diamonds more flawless than the finest in the Sinanju treasure house. These early Luzu were not advanced far enough to mine the gems, and a Master of Sinanju does not dig. Therefore, Nuk did shepherd the Luzu to greatness. Over time they did grow and prosper to the point where they were able to mine the diamonds from the rocky hills. Nuk was paid and went on his way."
Remo had been listening to the account with interest.
"Sounds like a pretty savvy move to me," he commented with an appreciative nod. "Small investment, big payoff."
Chiun gave an annoyed cluck. "We are not a house of financial brokers," he complained. "Payment for a contract year is due in full, up front. Preferably gold. We invest not in stock markets, but in the future of Sinanju. Anything could have happened to the Luzu during the years Nuk nurtured them. Famine, war. A single plague could have wiped out all that he worked for."
"I suppose. But it didn't. Nuk got his payday."
"That is not the point. Nuk should have found an employer who paid immediately. His years with the Luzu created a dependency of them on us. He even resurrected the long-abandoned practice of offering weapons training to his charges due to the guilt he felt. Because of Nuk the Unwise, we are responsible for these people as we are for no other."
"Nuk the Unwise," Remo mused. "Back when you made me learn the names of all the masters, I always thought that one sounded a little harsh."
"Harsh, perhaps. But well earned," Chiun said.
"Probably, from our mercenary standpoint. But the guy worked hard to be a Master of Sinanju. We went through it, we know what it's like. So what if he screwed up a little along the way? He got paid in the end. But that doesn't matter. The final kick in the teeth to poor Nuk is someone scribbling 'unwise' in front of his name in the scrolls."
"Pray that your pupil does not give you a worse honorific," Chiun said somberly.
While Remo didn't want to think of his future pupil right now, Chiun's last words caused his ears to prick up.
"You mean the pupil gets to pick the honorific of his Master?" he pressed.
A look of flickering horror passed swiftly across the parchment face of the Master of Sinanju. He quickly banished it far beneath a bland veneer of tan wrinkles.
"I am not certain," he said vaguely. "I have been forced to nursemaid you so far beyond the point of my own retirement that I forget that particular rule."
The prospect of Chiun's retiring forced all lightness from Remo's tone. "So what's our story here?" he asked. "Because of Nuk's empire-building, we've got to come back here at the drop of a hat whenever they ask?"
"No. The situation must be grave enough to threaten the Luzu Empire. Only then is Sinanju bound to act."
"Some empire," Remo said mockingly. "Ten thousand stick figures and one big fat chief. He's got a hell of a nerve, by the way. Looking like that when the rest of his people look like they're one empty plate away from the cemetery."
"You worry still about the injustices of the world." Chiun sighed. "I will be pleased when this sickness finally runs its course."
"If getting over Master's disease means I'll start subscribing to Batubizee's 'let 'em eat cake' philosophy, then I pray to every god you've got that I never get better."
A shocked intake of air. When he glanced over, Remo found a look of pure horror on his teacher's face.
"Remo, still your tongue," Chiun whispered. Troubled eyes scanned the night sky. He tracked the course of a shooting star with a deeply worried look. "You must beg forgiveness for your ill-chosen words," he warned.
"What?" Remo frowned. "Chiun, I-"
"Remo, please," Chiun begged. His eyes were desperate.
Rare were such entreaties from the Master of Sinanju.
Remo regarded the clear African sky. "Sorry," he said to the stars.
Chiun waited a long time, as if he expected the wrath of the gods to rain fire on both their heads.
When the heavens remained silent, he turned his attention back to his pupil.
"It is not wise to tempt the gods in such a way," the old man offered, his voice a respectful whisper. His tone implored understanding.
"I'm sorry, Little Father," Remo said. And this apology he meant.
The tiny Asian nodded. "As for Batubizee, he looks as he does because he is chief. He was not chosen because he did not perspire on television and another would-be chief did, or because females wished to lay with him more than some other or because he was an inch taller or lied about experiencing the pain of his subjects. He is chief because he was born to be chief. I do not expect you to understand, but as the future standard bearer of our House, it is important that you at least feign understanding."
It was as if he were trying to will Remo to understand.
Remo nodded tightly. "I know my obligations." Chiun could sense his pupil's heavy heart.
The old Korean suddenly held out a bony hand to all that was visible of the once mighty Luzu nation. Moonlight dappled the savannah. Nearby, the toppled foundation of an ancient building jutted from the wind-worn dirt.
"Remember that the worries of those who made this empire have long since turned to dust. The woes that burden you will one day be the same. You flutter here and there, hoping that each moment will bring you happiness. But a mere moment cannot be so powerful. It is but the lost blink of an eye, forever locked in time. True joy comes from within. Do not struggle so hard to find it, and perhaps it will find you."
"Sometimes I've thought I had," Remo admitted gently. "But every time things seem to get okay for me, the world comes along and kicks me in the nuts."
Chiun offered a flickering smile. "At those points, my son, it is always important to kick back harder." His eyes darted over his pupil's shoulder. "Your ride is here."
When Remo turned, curious, he saw that Bubu was picking his way around the broken baobab. The young man had changed back into the suit he'd worn at the airport.
Remo noted that Bubu was lean, but not emaciated. His stride was that of a confident feline. There seemed a quiet grace to him as the young man stopped beside the rock on which sat the two, Sinanju Masters.
"If you wish to return to Bachsburg tonight, Master Remo, the chief has said I may take you," Bubu said with a polite bow. "Provided you are staying, Master Chiun."
Remo turned to his mentor. "Chiun?"
The old man shook his head. "I cannot go," he said.
"Okay," Remo said, scampering down the rock. "You're on. Name's Remo, by the way. You can cut out that Master stuff."