The metalsmith's words were greeted with murmurs of assent.
"Let us retire to our homes and await future events," Uk-Uk said when quiet returned.
At that, Remo retreated. He had heard enough. It was time to tell Chiun the bad news. Let him figure out how to break it to the High Moo.
The Master of Sinanju stood resolute. He stirred not. He blinked not. He was an unmoving rock standing between the High Moo and those who would topple him from his throne.
The corridor leading to the High Moo's quarters was darker than the stomach of an octopus. Darker even than the dreamless slumber of Ru-Taki-Nuhu, who dwells far from the life-giving rays of the sun. But Chiun saw it as clearly as if illuminated by pure moonlight. A spider scuttled into a crack and Chiun saw it plainly. And the spider, even with many eyes, saw him not.
Chiun had deployed the Red Feather Guard at every entrance. No one could enter the palace unchallenged. And if any did, he would face the Master of Sinanju.
Sinanju had lost few emperors in its long and glorious history. This Master of Sinanju was determined that the High Moo would not be one of them.
It lacked but an hour until dawn when angry, stealthy footsteps padded through the palace halls. Chiun's immobility melted. He stepped forward to confront the approaching figure.
The padding was familiar.
The silhouette coming down the hall, Chiun saw at last, was the swivel-hipped Low Moo. Her face was a tight mask.
"I would speak with my father," she said in an icy voice that pleased Chiun. It meant Remo had not met with her this night.
"He sleeps," Chiun said blandly, joining his hands within the open sleeves of his emerald-and-gold kimono.
"Then I will wake him. Or would you deny me the right to see my own father?"
Chiun stood unmoving. His thin lips parted and he bowed silently.
"I serve the House of Moo, of which you are an honored part." Chiun stepped aside silently.
The Low Moo pushed open the bamboo-and-rattan door. "Father, I would speak with you," she called loudly. The door spanked shut behind her.
Chiun stood listening, his face intent, as the sounds of a low, intense argument began.
"He did not come to me," the Low Moo complained in a cat-spitting hiss. "And he is not in his room."
"I would have told you this," said the High Moo, "but you were nowhere to be found."
"I walked the beaches. I breathed prayers to the god of the waves who brings whites to our land. I thanked him abjectly, for you promised you would make this thing happen for me."
"You must be patient. The Master of Sinanchu has not yet given his blessing."
A bare foot spanked the stone floor. "I will not. I want him now. My hunger for him is great."
"He is not mine to give to you." The High Moo's voice was resigned.
"Then I will take him," the Low Moo hurled back.
"I warn you, do nothing to antagonize the Master of Sinanchu. Only he stands between our throne and these treasonous plotters."
"I will have him! I will feel the fire of his white kuna in my belly!"
"You are my daughter. You will obey me!"
"I am the Low Moo. I will not be denied the privileges that Low Moos of past time enjoyed."
The High Moo's answer was a strangled inarticulate rage. The Low Moo spat back a pungent curse. The exchange escalated and the Master of Sinanju heard a meaty slap, and there was the sound of a body falling.
There was silence in the room for a long time after. When the Low Moo emerged from the room, her cheeks blazing with shame. One darkening eye had already begun to swell.
Chiun looked for tears, but there were none.
"My father slumbers," she said, closing the door after her. Her feet slapped the stone flooring angrily as she disappeared around a turn in the corridor.
The Master of Sinanju resumed his resolute stance before the High Moo's chambers. He was once more the impenetrable rock of safety for his emperor.
Remo Williams slipped up to the palace like a drifting shadow. He might have been a trick of the light caused by the moon ghosting in and out of low-flying cloud scud. He decided to climb in through his bedroom window in order to avoid the Red Feather Guards at every entrance.
"Remo, you have come." The voice was sullen. But it lifted toward the last.
"Dolla-Dree?" Remo asked. A shadowy figure sprawled on his sleeping mat.
"I have spoken to my father. He no longer stands against our union. I have waited long for you to come to me."
"Yeah? Gave us his blessing, did he?"
"Come," she said, rising on her hands. She lay there like a great tawny cat. Remo picked out the dark spots of her nipples. She wore only the lower portion of her costume. Her eyes were wide and unwinking, like black jewels. Her pupils were so distended that the smoky iris was all but invisible.
Remo joined her on the sleeping mat.
"I wanted to talk to Chiun first," he said uncertainly.
"It lacks but an hour until the sun's bright eye returns. Let us do what we will while he cannot see us."
She leaned into him, her smooth arms wrapping around his neck. She nipped at his right earlobe. Then playfully bit into the left. Remo felt his desire for her stir within him. It was more curiosity than need. Sinanju had burned out raw lust a long time ago. But the Low Moo was an attractive creature. The word popped into Remo's mind unbidden. She seemed in the half-light less a woman than a woman-child, and perhaps not quite that. There was something feral in her eyes. They were sullen and sexy at once. They made Remo feel a new emotion. Something subliminal. An anticipation, and a kind of tingling anxiousness too.
Remo sought her lips, but, teasing, she avoided them and sank perfect white teeth into his shoulder.
"Cut it out," Remo said lightly. The teeth tightened. Remo frowned.
"I need you, Remo. I need your strength," she said through her tightening teeth.
"How about you need me a little less hard?" Remo asked gently but firmly, pushing her head away. He took her face in his hands.
"I get ahead of myself," she said. "Why do you not lie back?"
"You want to get on top?"