The High Moo would have none of it.
"He confessed to being lazy," Chiun insisted. "He did not like to work in your mines, the ingrate. But he was no octopus worshiper. He told us so. Tell him, Remo." Chiun pushed Remo before the High Moo like an idiot child about to recite an important school lesson.
"It's true," Remo said. "I heard him say so."
"You bring me a dead body and the word of a mere slave?" spat the High Moo.
"Told you so," Remo whispered to Chiun in English. He couldn't resist throwing in a knowing grin.
"He is dead. The last octopus worshiper is no more," Chiun went on in an agitated voice.
"He is not dead enough," said the High Moo, who then took up his hardwood club and proceeded to beat the body into a shapeless bloody lump. He took his time about this, working around the body methodically. He saved the head for last.
Remo, watching the High Moo at work, said, "I'm cutting out. This isn't my thing."
Even the Master of Sinanju was sickened.
The Moovians watched stonily. They neither turned away nor seemed ill-at-ease. They looked, if anything, resigned. Only the Low Moo looked away. She was plucking hibiscus blossoms. She discarded them carelessly until she found one she liked. Then she put it in her hair over her left ear.
When the High Moo was finished, he stood on bowed and sweaty legs.
"Take this thing away," he ordered his Red Feather Guard. "Boil the traitorous flesh from his leg bones and I will have them for swords. They will remind all plotters of their fate."
The body was carted off by four guards, each lugging a wrist or ankle.
"I speak the truth," Chiun told the High Moo after he had sunk back onto his Shark Throne. The High Moo wiped sweat off his brow. His underarms exuded a sweaty stench that made Chiun's nose wrinkle distastefully.
"We will soon know," said the High Moo. His chest heaved from his exertions. "For if no one harms my person between now and the next moon, I will allow you to take away your full payment."
"One who is protected by Sinanju need fear nothing," Chiun said flintily.
"I look around me and my stomach is uneasy," the High Moo said pointedly.
Chiun clapped his hands. The thunder sent birds winging from distant trees.
"Why are you all standing around?" he cried. "Your emperor is safe. Get you to your work. The rice fields need tending. The mines are empty. Be gone, you lazy sons and daughters of the greatest empire of ancient times."
Moovians scattered in all directions. Children fled for the safety of their mothers. And Chiun, seeing the effect of his words, turned to the High Moo and bowed once, formally.
"See that my kingdom runs smoothly," said the High Moo through heavy-lidded eyes, "and I will reward you handsomely upon your departure."
The Master of Sinanju did not observe the cunning smiled that wreathed the High Moo's face as he took his leave.
Chiun found Remo walking along the eastern shore. The sun beat down on Remo's bare chest and the Master of Sinanju noticed that the red sucker marks on his arms and chest were very red. Remo's face was tight and troubled.
"Nice emperor you serve," Remo remarked acidly when Chiun padded up beside him.
"We serve," Chiun corrected. But his bell-like voice was subdued.
"Not me. I'm just a lowly slave. And an orphan." Chiun said nothing. The sun was setting and the shadows lengthened along the white beach. They walked together, Chiun's hands inside his belled sleeves. Remo rotated his thick wrists unconsciously. It was a habit that surfaced when he was preoccupied.
"A month is too long," Remo said, breaking the silence.
"I have been making a list," Chiun said, as if not hearing. "I have been listing all kings and princes who still rule kingdoms in the modern world."
"Maybe next time you'll remember the crossword puzzles."
"It is a very short list."
"Life goes on," Remo said in a bored voice.
"And my life has gone on longer than yours. Perhaps in the next century, as Westerners reckon time, the world will right itself and sane statecraft will prevail once more. There may again be kings and princes aplenty in the years to come. But I may never know them. You may, Remo, but I will not. Not that I am old."
"No, not you."
"But I live a dangerous life. And the future is unknowable, even to a Master of Sinanju."
"But you've got the past locked down tight."
"The High Moo may be the only true emperor my Mastership will know. I have a month. A month to savor true service. Would you begrudge me that month, Remo?"
"No. But we both have to answer to Smith. And he pays better. He pays in gold. Not silver or platinum or whatever those coins are."
Chiun separated his sleeves to reveal the coin Remo had found in the ground.
"This is more precious than silver. Rarer than platinum. Any patch of dirt will yield those metals. But coins such as these were thought lost when Moo was lost."
"I'll bet we have a time figuring out the exchange rate when we get back," Remo joked.
Chiun regarded his wavering reflection in the coin's polished surface.
"Come," he said abruptly.
"Where?"
"I must compare this coin to those in the High Moo's treasure house."
"Why not? It'll kill an afternoon."
As they picked their way inland, they passed the mines.
Men were hauling coconut shells heaping with dirt out in fire-brigade fashion and making a pile. In the fields, the children toiled. No one looked happy, and Remo remarked on that observation.
"For islanders, they're a pretty morose lot."
"You first saw them at their best. At the feast. Do you really believe your fantasies of happy brown people basking in the sun indulging in free love all day and night?"