"Today you are an overseer," said Chiun. "And a good assassin protects his ruler's empire as his ruler expects it to be protected. It has been a week since the last attempt on the High Moo's life."
"That's because we've been riding herd on these poor people so much, it's all they can do to crawl off to sleep at day's end."
"It worked for Simon Legree too," Chiun remarked as he walked off.
After the Master of Sinanju had left, the miners watched Remo as if to measure him. When Remo turned his back on them, they slowed their work. A few sneaked off into the brush.
"Ola!" Remo said as the Low Moo drew near. The Low Moo's smile was ivory framed in copper. Her face possessed a soft childish look, that still surprised Remo every time he thought back to how she had dealt with Horton Droney III.
"I have been looking for you, Remo. What happened to your hair?"
"It's not my hair I'm worried about, it's my fingernails," Remo said ruefully.
The Low Moo took Remo's hands in hers. "They are very long," she cooed. "Like talons, to claw and rend your enemies."
"I don't have any enemies at the moment."
"I know. Everyone likes you. Especially the peasant girls. Are you not tired of peasant girls by now? You have been on Moo a full week now."
"Yeah, actually I am."
The Low Moo's smile widened. It was dazzlingly white. "That is good," she said, taking his forearm in her golden fingers.
"Uh-oh," Remo muttered.
"What is that you said?"
"It was English," Remo said quickly. "It means . . . you are very pretty today."
The Low Moo's smile broadened. She ran her fingers up to Remo's hard lean bicep, squeezing it hard, almost pinching it.
"Why do Moovian girls bite?" Remo asked suddenly. "Can you tell me that?"
"Because you are white. For generations, since the last white men came to our island and tried to make us embrace their one god, stories of the handsomeness of white men have been passed from mother to daughter. We have heard of your tallness, of your delectable white skin and potent organs."
"Organ. I only have one," said Remo. "I was just discussing the subject last night."
The Low Moo laughed.
"Do Moovian girls bite their own men?"
"Of course not. We kiss."
"Well, I'm still waiting for my first Moavian kiss."
"I will come to you tonight. But first I must ask my father an important favor."
"What's that?"
"Oh, I could not tell you. You might run away."
"Not me. There isn't anything I'm afraid of. And Chiun told me that you were probably a virgin anyway."
The Low Moo laughed. "There are no virgins on Moo. Not over the age of twelve."
"That's what I figured," Remo said dryly.
The Low Moo's face wrinkled suddenly. She glanced over Remo's shoulder. Remo turned.
"Why are those men not working?" she demanded petulantly.
"Them? Oh, I gave them a break," Remo lied.
"Their respite is not for another hour."
"What's the difference? They'll get back to work eventually. Besides, I don't see the point of all this beehive activity. You people have plenty of food for the taking. You should relax more."
"If my people did not have work, they would become lazy and lose their skills."
"I think they work too hard as it is."
"That is an attitude I would expect from a former slave. You do not understand rulership. How could my father and I rule if these peasants have no tasks set for them? Everyone would want to rule. Or none would. It would be terrible. Chaos. Like in the days after Old Moo disappeared under the waves." Saying that, the Low Moo stepped up to the squatting miners and, shaking her fists, began hectoring them in a high, bitter voice. She went on for several minutes, her beautiful face working in fury. She called them ungrateful for the purpose that work gave their indolent lives. She accused them of being lazy and disrespectful of tradition. Since the days of Old Moo, the empire had depended on the High Moo's coinage to maintain its power in the world. One day, thanks to their efforts, Moo would rise again as a great power. But not if the work stopped.
When she rejoined Remo, her features were soft and pliant again. It was as if a sudden tropical storm had come and gone.
"Okay, okay," Remo said. "You've made your point. I'll see that they don't slack off anymore."
"I will see you tonight," the Low Moo said gently. "I look forward to pooning you."
"Me too," said Remo. "Whatever you mean."
And the Low Moo ran off like a fawn, her tinkling laughter filtered through the leaves.
Chapter 31
"This is it!" Shane Billiken shouted excitedly. "That's the island."
Dirk Edwards burst up from belowdeck. He was in his camouflage Jockey shorts. One hand gripped a nine-millimeter Browning that hung from a shoulder rig.
"You sure?" he growled.
"I dreamed on it last night."
"Yeah. And the last island you said was the right one turned out to be a guano preserve. So was the one before that. And you knew that was the right one because it was directly under the Little Dipper."
"Probably sunspot interference. I don't image well when there are sunspots. Look for a tall building. A temple."