"A giant."
Chiun glared. "In those days, that was tall. Some would say too tall. It is only the ridiculous modern Europeans who think five feet is not tall."
"Sorry," Remo said sheepishly.
"Now, these were prosperous days for Sinanju, although my lowly village was not then the jewel it is now, of course. "
Remo started to snort in derision, but managed to turn it into a cough. The village of Sinanju was a cluster of mud-ringed huts clinging to the rocky coast of North Korea. It was cold and wet, and, even by the standards of a clam, inhospitable. But Remo didn't say that. He wanted to hear about Moo, and eventually the bare-breasted women he had been promised.
"Egypt knew of us in those days, although they were stingy with steady work. The Chinese knew of us, although they paid slowly and sometimes it was necessary to make an example of certain tribal princes in order to expedite payments."
"Business is business."
"But fortunately there was one client who was always on time with payments and who offered steady work, although it unfortunately involved extra travel time."
"Commuting is the bane of the workaday assassin, then and now," Remo remarked.
Chiun regarded him as if uncertain of Remo's meaning. His hazel eyes narrowed and he went on in a quieter voice, knowing that this would force Remo to strain to catch his every golden syllable.
"This land was known as the Kingdom of Moo."
"How do you spell that, by the way?"
"In the European alphabet, it is M, followed by two O's."
"That's what I thought," Remo said dryly.
Chiun rearranged his kimono skirts. "Are you making fun of Moo, Remo?"
"No, just holding up my end of the conversation. Go on. "
"Now, Moo was a great land. Greater in area than Korea. It was an island, but larger in size and riches than all of the islands now claimed by Japan. It lay further east than Japan, in the ocean now called the Pacific. This ocean, Remo," Chiun said meaningfully.
Remo looked out over the water. Sunlight danced on the choppy waves.
"So great was Sinanju's fame that in the days of the first Master, whose name does not survive in any known record, the High Moo, ruler of the great land of Moo, sent a messenger to my village, requesting assistance. The first Master of Sinanju sailed to Moo and performed a great service for the High Moo, whose throne was beset by pretenders, and in doing this service, was richly rewarded for his efforts. And so Moo became a favorite client of Sinanju. And Moo also became a place beloved by my ancestors, for the rare coins of Moo were a currency more powerful than that of Egypt or China. And these coins enabled us to feed our young so that they did not have to be sent home to the sea. Have I told you how, when the food ran out in those days, mothers drowned their youngest infants, the females before the males, to spare them the slow death of starvation?"
"A million-zillion times."
"It is an important lesson, one you must never forget. For one day you will be in charge of my village."
"I won't forget the story of sending the babies home to the sea until the day I die. Maybe not even then."
"Good. But the occasional reminder does no harm."
"It does help pass the time, especially when the fish aren't exactly fighting to get out of the water."
The Master of Sinanju made his bamboo pole wriggle faster. He frowned. Surely there was at least one fish in this entire ocean.
"As I was saying," he went on, "Moo was good to Sinanju and Sinanju was good for Moo. It was a happy, fruitful association, blessed by the young gods of those early days. Then one cold morning, in the reign of Master Mangko, who was the third Master, there came a message from the High Moo. This was a different High Moo than the High Moo I spoke of earlier. For the High Moo is what a king would be to the English, or a pharaoh to the Egyptians."
"I figured out that part all by myself."
"And why not? I have taught you all you know."
"And I appreciate the continual subtle reminders," said Remo, trying to imagine where the bare-breasted women could possibly fit into this. He would have asked, but he knew that Chiun would probably save that part for the absolute end, just to annoy him.
"This message called upon the Master Mangko to journey to the land of Moo with urgent speed. It spoke of a terrible calamity, which only the Master of Sinanju could remedy. The messenger was of Moo, and like all men of Moo who ventured out into the world, his tongue had been cut off so that he would not reveal the true location of his emperor's domain if he were set upon by bandits, who were very common in those days."
"Unlike today."
"Exactly," said Chiun. He continued. "The message, which was written on tree-bark parchment, was very unspecific, and Master Mangko understood that it had been written in haste. So he slew the messenger and assembled his night tigers."
"Hold the phone," Remo said suddenly. "He slew the messenger! What for?"
"Because the messenger had delivered his message and was no longer needed."
"What was wrong with taking him back to Moo?"
"Remo! Have you no common sense? He was another mouth to feed and would require an extra horse. Men of Sinanju were great horsemen in those days. Did you know that?"
"Two seconds ago, no. Now, yes."
"You are never too old to be enlightened. And so the Master Mangko traveled from Korea through what would later be known as the kingdom of China. It was a hard journey, for they were beset by Chinese bandits and severe winter storms. But at last they reached the coast. But not without price. For one of the night tigers, whose name was Sako, had been wounded by the same Chinese bandits. It was a sad day for Master Mangko, for in his heart he had already chosen Sako to be trained as the next in line. Although, of course, Sako knew none of this."
Chiun paused in his recitation. His voice was hollow when he continued.
"It is a sad thing when a Master dies young, Remo. Sadder still when he does before achieving Masterhood. For who knows what great things Sako might have accomplished had he lived. Poor Sako. Alas. Cut down by Chinese bandits in the flower of his manhood."
"He died of his wounds, huh?"
"No, Master Mangko dispatched him."
"Why?" Remo demanded hotly.
"Because he was wounded and the bandits were riding hard after them. The Master and his entourage had a long sea voyage ahead of them and could not be burdened by a wounded man."
"That's awful!"
"The story gets worse," Chiun said.
"How is that possible? So far, the good guys are killing all their friends."
"Worse," repeated Chiun, his voice dropping to a hush. "They had to abandon the horses."
"So?"