An old service not even new in 500 B.C., and an indentation from something marble on the floor of an empty treasure house in Sinanju.
So what?
So there was someone out there Remo couldn't get a handle on, and this wasn't telling him how. "Master Remo. Master Remo. It's for you," came the voice. It was a young boy who had run up from the village. "The telephone in the baker's house has rung for you. Gracious Chiun has given me a piece of gold to run up here and ask you down to the house."
"He's there now?" asked Remo.
"Yes, he left the great House of Sinanju and with the baker went to see your beloved wife, Poo. They are all there with the mother. They are waiting for you, too," said the boy.
"Anyway, I can take the phone call up here."
"Master Chiun had it transferred to the baker's house so you would not be disturbed on your wedding night. No one would dare change an order from the Great Chiun."
"All right," said Remo. "I'll take it."
The call was a relay from Smith. He was all but sure Arieson was at work again in Northern Ireland. Had Remo found anything that could stop him yet?
"No," said Remo, staring at the tear-soaked moon face of Poo, the daggers of her mother's eyes, the distaste of her father, and Chiun totally, siding with that family.
"Can you talk now?"
"No," said Remo.
"I think the man who calls himself Arieson is behind the kidnapping of the Prime Minister of England."
"Arieson? Where in England?"
"In Bath, obviously," said Chiun.
"Ask him how he knows it's in Bath," said Smith.
"If you take the scroll of the years of the horse, pig, and dragon, roughly your years for A.D. 112, you will not only find out why Arieson is in Bath but you will find out where in Bath."
"He's kidnapped the Prime Minister there, Little Father."
"And they can't find her, is that correct?"
"Yes. That's what they're saying. They don't know how they could have lost her," said Remo, repeating what Smith was telling him.
"They can't find her because they don't know where to look," said Chiun. "Take the scrolls with you. You'll find her. But you won't be able to stop Mr. Arieson, so don't even bother. This is where you should be bothering, with this poor, beautiful, lovely creature who wants only for you to deliver what you vowed here in your ceremony."
"I'll be right over to England, Smitty," said Rema. Poo, he found out, had just learned another word. It was "Harrods."
Chapter 8
Remo parked Poo in the Britannia Hotel in a suite of rooms overlooking one of the many little parks in London.
Before he left, she asked:
"Will you deflower me tonight?"
"If you got a petunia, I'll take it from you. But if you mean copulation, no. Not tonight."
"Why not tonight? I'm alone again on my honeymoon."
"Tonight is not the right night."
"There will never be a right night," said Poo. Somehow she had discovered, with the aid only of a phone book in a language she did not understand, that seamstresses would come up to one's hotel room and make dresses for one while one waited.
She could also order jewelers that way, too. And, of course, food. She was going to try that great English delicacy of bangers and mash.
If Poo had to be left alone again this honeymoon night, she did not know what she would tell her mother.
"Five thousand pounds," said Remo.
"I should tell my mother five thousand pounds?"
"No, you get five thousand pounds not to tell your mother a thing about what goes on and what does not go on in our marriage."
"The first night that would be a good sum. It is not unusual for couples not to consummate the first night. It does happen. But we are into many, many nights now. Now we are beginning a disgrace." Poo's moon face quivered. A tear came down one eye. She covered her face in shame.
"How much?"
The hands lowered. "We have to be talking ten thousand pounds at least. And what is the tribute you're getting for this service?"
"I don't get the tribute. It all goes to Sinanju."
"It all goes to Chiun."
"It goes to the House of Sinanju. I am a Master of Sinanju. It goes to Chiun and me, I guess."
"I am married to a Master of Sinanju who does not even know whether he gets tribute or not. Is that what I married?"
"Divorce is possible. You can have that for a solution, Poo," said Remo, reaching the door.
"Divorce is impossible in the Sinanju ceremony. No Sinanju Master has ever gotten divorced. It isn't done. It is," said Poo, pausing before that inviolate supreme word of Sinanju, "tradition."
"There must have been one Master who got divorced. I'm sure there was," said Remo, feeling the outer edges of panic kiss his nervous system.
"You should know," cooed Poo. "You had to read all the scrolls to become a Master. If you can find a divorce in the history of Sinanju, let me know. Until then, think about how you want to divide the tribute with Chiun. It is my impression you do most of the work in the current service to America."
"How do you know that?"
"Everyone in Sinanju knows what goes on in the House of Sinanju. It's a major topic of discussion. Am I right? Do you do most of the work?"
"We never figured out who did what, Poo. It works. There is nothing better than something that works. So long."