"No, no," said Dolla-Dree, dropping at his feet. She knelt before her father, bowing her long tresses. "I crave a boon. One that will make me one with the Low Moos of the past."
"Go on, daughter."
"I wish to buy the slave Remo. For I crave him greatly."
"He is no longer a slave. He has been freed. We do not have slaves on Moo."
"Only because there are not enough Moovians to have slaves as well as workers. We had slaves in the days of the white sailors."
"Which we freed at the proper time."
"And I vow to follow that tradition. I will buy Remo, and before I take him into myself, I will free him."
"Well-spoken. But he is already a free man."
"Oh, he will not be a slave long," the Low Moo implored. She grabbed her father's legs eagerly. Her face lifted. "I will treat him as we treated the white men of the long-ago days. He will be mine forever, one with my heart, identical with my soul, the flesh of my flesh."
"The Master of Sinanchu cares for this man," the High Moo reminded.
The Low Moo reared to her feet, her dark eyes snapping. "You deny me? Your daughter? The one who, alone in the world, loves you?"
The High Moo winced under the tongue-lashing. He relented.
"I will speak with the Master of Sinanchu," he said. "I will see what his feelings are toward Remo."
"I will await his decision," the Low Moo told him coolly. "Do not disappoint me, for I am all you have." She promptly disappeared into the palace, her haughty back radiating scorn.
His war club in hand, the High Moo called to his Red Feather Guard. They surrounded him as he set out in search of the Master of Sinanchu. The golden plume on his fillet crown dipped with each heavy step he took. It was a difficult thing his daughter had asked of him. The rite had not been performed since Rona-Ku was High Moo.
The monkeys chattered at him as he walked, and the High Moo shook his fist at them as if they were the cause of all his troubles.
They were nearing the rice fields when one of the guards walking before the High Moo seemed to stumble. He fell against a tree. He did not rise.
"See to him," the High Moo said shortly. "His head must have struck a stone."
The other guards surrounded the man. They shook him. He did not stir. They rolled him over on his back and everyone saw his glassy sightless stare. And they knew.
It was the High Moo who spotted the thorn sticking from the guard's foot. He pulled it free. A tiny drop of blood dripped from the tip.
"A stonefish spine," he growled. "It must have been set into the ground to trap me."
A rustling of the foliage ahead caught their attention. The remaining guards started after the skulker.
"No," cried the High Moo. "Do not leave me. There may be others lurking about. We will attend to that one later. I must see the Master of Sinanchu. You will carry my scared personage so that I do not fall prey to another vicious trap."
The Red Feather Guard hesitated. They looked down at their naked bronze feet.
"I have bestowed upon you the gift of being my guards," the High Moo growled. "Any who do not wish to enjoy the comforts that go with it may choose between the mines and the fields."
The guards looked at one another and two men took the High Moo by the legs while the third reached under his armpits. In this fashion they carried him from the path. They went with ginger steps, their questing eyes anxious.
When the Master of Sinanju saw the High Moo being carried in a supine position, his heart leapt at the thought that he had lost the only true emperor he had ever known.
"What has transpired?" he demanded of the guards as they set their ruler on his feet. "Is the High Moo ill?"
"I have escaped another base attempt upon my life," said the High Moo. "A stonefish spine placed in the road. One of my guards lies dead."
"He died knowing that he served you well," intoned Chiun. "He could ask for no greater destiny."
"I saw the one who did it," said a guard. All eyes turned to the man. "Through the trees. I recognized his face. It was Uk-Uk."
"Then Uk-Uk must die!" cried Chiun. "Point him out to me and I will rend him apart with infinite slowness." Like yellow talons, Chiun's hands flashed in the sunlight. He clawed the air, making flamboyant sweeping gestures. He hoped the High Moo would be impressed. But the High Moo's next words stunned the Master of Sinanju.
"No," he said unhappily. "Uk-Uk is my metalsmith."
"The old one?" Chiun demanded.
"Truly. I had thought him loyal. But he cannot die, for there is no other with the skill to fashion my coins."
"Then what would you have me do to him?" asked Chiun, who had never known an emperor to show mercy to a traitor. "I could pluck out one eye as an object lesson."
"No, for if he loses the other to disease or bird attack, he will be useless to me."
"I will leave the eyes, then. Select a limb for removal."
"I do not know," said the High Moo after a long pause. His broad coppery features were troubled., "But I have something more important to speak of now."
"Yes?" said Chiun, his eyes bright. What could be more important than the intrigues of the Shark Throne?
"My daughter, the Low Moo, has come to me. She craves your freed slave, Remo."
"Do you propose joining our houses in marriage?" Chiun asked slowly.
"If that is necessary to satisfy my daughter's need. But I would prefer to buy him."
Chiun's beard quivered. "Buy Remo? My Remo?"
"He was your slave in the outer world. Here, only we know that he has been liberated. Perhaps there is an honorable way you could unfree him. Then I would be prepared to discuss a price."
"Buy? Not marriage?" Chiun squeaked.
"I will do whatever is necessary, for my daughter's happiness is dear to me."
Chiun considered. "I will think on this matter. But I make no promise," he said hastily.
"Understood. Now I must return to my palace. For only there am I safe, it seems." The High Moo motioned for his guards to lift him off his feet.