Remo let himself be pushed down. There was something in the air, something that was sexual but somehow outside of sex. He didn't know what it was. But he felt a little thrill course along his spine and the short hairs of his forearms lifted as if from static electricity.
Whatever the Low Moo had in mind, it was going to be very different, Remo decided. He closed his eyes as she mounted him. Let her surprise him.
The Master of Sinanju smelled blood.
His wrinkled face lifted suddenly. He sniffed in all directions. The scent emanated from the High Moo's quarters.
Chiun went through the door like a charging ram.
The High Moo lay on his bed, the golden plume of kingship drooping from his crown so that it brushed his broad nose.
A bone knife slanted up from the middle of his breastbone. He was not breathing.
Chiun fell upon the man. He didn't touch the knife. It had probably severed veins or arteries, and its blade might have sealed off the severed ends. To withdraw it would risk the free flow of royal blood.
Instead, the Master of Sinanju placed a fist over the High Moo's heart. It beat sluggishly. His mouth was open like a fish's.
Chiun pounded the fist with the flat of his other hand. Once. Again. Again. And again. The High Moo's bulk quaked and trembled. A whitish foam spilled from his lips and the coughing began. His eyes fluttered open stupidly. "Move not," Chiun admonished. "I will tend to you."
Chiun examined the knife. It seemed to have gone in deeply. But when he touched the hilt, it wobbled. The blade had snapped going in. He lifted it free.
The blade had gone in at an angle. There was less damage than had been apparent. Chiun left the tip in.
"Sit up," Chiun said.
The High Moo pushed himself so that his torso and head were supported by the wall behind his sleeping mat. "Who did this?" demanded Chiun.
"I know not," mumbled the High Moo. His eyes were glassy and blank. He seemed to be in shock, although the blood loss was insignificant.
The Master of Sinanju flew to the open window. He stuck his head out. A Red Feather Guard stopped pacing the open courtyard.
"You! Guard!" Chiun called. "Where have you been?"
"Here," the guard replied hastily.
Chiun motioned him close, and when he was within reach, the Master of Sinanju smashed the bone spear from his hand, and taking him by the throat, forced him to his knees. "Your emperor lies wounded by base assassins. I will ask you again. Who entered this window?"
"But, no one." Chiun squeezed harder. The guard's eyes bulged like frightened grapes.
"I swear by the moon," he said.
Chiun's visage drew tighter. But the fear in the guard's voice told him that he spoke the truth as he knew it. No one had entered by the window. And only one person had entered by the door.
"See that no further harm comes to the High Moo," Chiun warned, "or it will be on your head." He released the guard and swept out of the room like a harried specter.
The Low Moo was not in her quarters. She was not in the eating room. Chiun began to ascend the stairs to the second floor, when he heard voices. Remo's. And one other.
He padded back to the first floor. The voices came from Remo's room.
Chiun burst in.
"Chiun!" Remo said in surprise. He lay on his back, the Low Moo atop him. She was pulling at her skirts, loosening them.
"Don't you believe in knocking first?" Remo asked sheepishly.
"I have learned who desires the High Moo's death," Chiun said.
"So have I," Remo said.
"Then why do I find you like this?"
Remo pushed the Low Moo away and sat up. "I was on my way to see you," he said. "Honest. But I happened to bump into her. One thing just led to another."
The Low Moo rearranged her skirts. She stared up at the Master of Sinanju, her eyes as big as a tomcat's. "You consort with the enemy of him whom you are sworn to preserve," Chiun said coldly.
"What are you talking about?"
"You know who is trying to kill the High Moo?"
"Sure, I do," Remo said, getting to his feet. "Everybody."
"You are blind, Remo. The traitor lies at your feet."
"Her?" Remo said, aghast. "No way, Chiun. You got it all wrong. I was out in the jungle. There must be two dozen different plots being hatched. If you ask me, it's practically open season on the High Moo. I think he's been working everyone too hard. They're fed up."
"Spoken like a peasant," the Low Moo said sulkily. Remo put his hands on his hips.
"Hey, what happened to wanting me?"
"I do want you," she hissed. "And I will have you!" The Low Moo sprang to her feet. A bone knife flashed up from under her skirts. She came at Remo, the knife held low for a disemboweling slash.
"Hey!" Remo yelled, his eyes wide. Reflexively his hand caught her knife wrist. He twisted. The Low Moo squealed in pain. Remo kicked her ankles out from under her. She went down in a pile.
Chiun retrieved the viciously curved bone knife from the floor.
"Yes. It is the same design as the other."
"What's going on here?" Remo demanded hotly.
"She did not want you the way you think," Chiun said, examining the knife.
"Yeah? What other way is there?"
"She wanted to poon you."
"And she would have if you hadn't interrupted."