In a great and courtly bow, Chiun, the Master of Sinanju, kissed the pope's ring.
Remo, the Catholic orphan from Newark raised by nuns, stood with his mouth open.
"Your Holiness, we are here," said Chiun. His wisps of hair touched the floor as he reached the nadir of his bow, and then, using his kimono like wings, flourished it gloriously and stood up.
"Who are you?" asked His Holiness in English.
"A fulfiller of the wisest arrangement ever made by the throne of St. Peter."
"Would you tell me the arrangement? This has been a most trying day." The white still stood with his mouth open, looking at the pope's ring.
To Remo, an ex-Catholic who had never heard a Christian word from Chiun, this ornate sign of perfect obedience seemed to him as strange as a talking flounder. He couldn't believe it. But he had seen it. It was better than in St. Monica's back in Newark. The nuns could not have improved one whit on the way Chiun, the Master of Sinanju, had greeted His Holiness. It wasn't that Chiun even kissed the ring. It was the hearty way he went at it. Remo would have thought Chiun had just entered the priesthood.
"Your Holiness, the accords between the Vatican and the House of Sinanju were established during the magnificent pontificate of the Borgia popes."
The pope tilted his strong and kindly face.
"Sir," he said. "One of the proofs of the divine inspiration of the Catholic Church is that we survived the likes of the Borgia popes. We survived and triumphed over that decadence and murder. We have been reaffirmed by His hand against our sins."
"We have only fond memories of the Borgia popes."
"I do not understand who you are."
"We are the House of Sinanju, assassins to the finest of the world."
The pope shook his head. "I want no accords with assassins," he said, and asked the date the supposed document had been drawn. Once given the date, he sent for an aide, and the aide sent for another aide, and that aide sent for a nun who found the parchment, sealed with the three-tiered crown of St. Peter.
The pontiff read the document with wide eyes. The Borgias, that disgrace to the Catholic Church, had purchased the services of these Oriental assassins in perpetuity; for a set fee the House of Sinanju agreed never to serve an enemy of the pope.
"No," said His Holiness. "We will not have this. You are free of your pledge."
"Your Holiness, we have adopted some most Christian customs in honor of your saintliness. Like marriage," said Chiun. "We Masters do not believe in divorce. Marriage is a bond not to be broken. Remo, my son, raised a Catholic, seems not to understand this."
The pope looked at his attackers, now stacked against the wall. In truth, these two had saved him. He asked the white man what should be so complicated about the marriage vow.
"Fulfilling it," said Remo. He did not bow down to kiss the ring, any more than he would talk in flowery nonsense to Harold W. Smith.
"One owes certain duties to one's spouse."
"I know. But I didn't want to marry her in the first place. Not really. I only did it to get my father, Chiun, to help me figure something out, something that had to do with that maniac Arieson."
"Then you did not enter this union of your own free will, my son?"
"No, Holy Father," said Remo.
"And Sinanju's customs regarding marriage are the same as those of the Holy Roman Catholic Church?"
"They are, Holy Father," said Remo.
"Then the marriage never took place. Only when someone enters a marriage freely and then consummates it is it a true marriage."
"I certainly haven't consummated that thing," said Remo.
"Then your marriage definitely does not exist, for two reasons."
Remo jumped almost to the ceiling, then fell on his knees and with awesome gratitude kissed the ring of the pope even though he didn't believe anymore. He would have kissed the hem of this man's garment. He was free of Precious Poo. The marriage did not exist.
"I'm free, Little Father, isn't that wonderful?" said Remo.
Chiun, kissing the pope's ring with just as grand a flourish, muttered in Korean about the perfidy of Rome.
Arieson was still in the large room with the tapestries, waiting for Remo and Chiun.
"I hear you rescued your client, Chiun," said Arieson.
"I have come to deal with you, Arieson," said Chiun, folding his arms and setting one foot forward in a posture of supreme arrogant bearing.
"Sure, Chiun. What's the deal?" said Arieson, leaning back in the chair and sending encouragement to the last Turk to fight to the death.
"We will stay out of Western Europe if you stay out of Asia," said Chiun.
"I'm not giving up China and Japan. I've enjoyed those places immensely," said Arieson.
"Japan is worthless now. It manufactures toys. What do you want with Japan?"
"That's only in the last fifty years. You don't think they've changed totally in the last fifty years? I can't let you have Japan."
"How many good markets are there?" asked Chiun. "Look at what I'm walking away from. America. Now, that's an active country for you. South America. It's coming into its age, and all of Europe, and the Middle East. Do you wish to deal or not?"
"You're not in a position to bargain. You can't give me what I want or deserve. You just don't have the goods anymore. You can cause me a little trouble here and there, but your boy Remo is just a diversion. I will let you have Japan."
"And Indochina."
"No. Too much."
"You have all China. You have Russia. Are we bargaining or are you dictating?" asked Chiun.
"Done," said Arieson. He offered a hand that Chiun refused to shake.
"Done," said Chiun.
Arieson offered the same hand to Remo.
"No," said Remo. "No deals. And you, Little Father, you said you'd show me how to deal with Arieson."
"I just did. We just did. You don't want to live with it, that's all."