"No, ai means 'to eat,' " Remo said.
"Ai means 'to dine.' Poon means 'to consume.'"
Remo blinked. He looked into Chiun's unwavering eyes. His eyes flashed down to the Low Moo. She averted her gaze. Her pink tongue licked at her lips. She rubbed her bare belly as if from a stomachache.
"You mean . . ." Remo began to say. Chiun nodded flintily.
Remo looked at the Low Moo again.
"It's not true, is it?" he asked quietly. "This wasn't what you meant by desiring my organ. To eat?"
"I deserved you. Other Low Moos enjoyed the Flesh Feast in the days of the whites who came to this island. Why should I not be like them? I earned my throne."
"Earned?" said Chiun sharply. Remo looked blank.
"Do you think that I was born Low Moo?" She laughed cruelly. "When Old Moo sank, the royal family escaped to the high plateau where the mountain palace stood. This palace. The peasants all drowned, but the royal family alone survived."
"You are all descendants of the House of Moo?" Chiun asked. "Every islander?"
The Low Moo nodded. "Ever since then it has been a struggle between those who sat upon the Shark Throne and those who did not. The strong ruled. The weak worked. My father slew the last High Moo only two years ago."
"In the Fifth Year of the Third Cycle," Chiun said, plucking the coin Remo had found from his sleeve. "The same year that the High Moo ascended the throne."
"There were four assassinations that year," the Low Moo went on. "Since then, my father has ruled through his might. There has been stability. Only the octopus worshipers vexed his kingdom. But now they are gone, and the troubles are worse."
"So you came to the throne with him?" Remo asked. "You weren't born a princess?" His voice was stunned. His features a little sick. The truth was starting to sink in.
The Low Moo shook her head. Her gaze was faraway. "I was the younger of two sisters. Tuka-Tee was Low Moo before me."
"What happened to her?" Remo wanted to know. The Low Moo shrugged unconcernedly.
"I poisoned her. Crushed stonefish spines in her food." Remo turned away.
"I think I'm going to be sick."
"Not as sick as you would have been had I not come to your rescue," Chiun pointed out.
"She's a princess, for Christ's sake," Remo said to no one in particular. He towered over the Low Moo. "You're a princess!" he roared. The Low Moo cringed. "And you're a freaking cannibal."
"Do not be insulting," the Low Moo shot back. "Moovians do not eat one another. Only whites. And no one has eaten human flesh since the last white man came to these shores. They were made slaves for a time. When they were freed, there was a feast. The Low Moo always had her choice of the best meat. And only the Low Moo."
"Equal eating for the High Moo was out?" Remo said bitterly.
The Low Moo shrugged. "No white women ever came. The royal family does not eat members of the same sex. Do you think we are ... perverts?"
"Perverts!" Remo shouted. "Listen, where I come from-"
"Enough," Chiun said. "Now you know the truth."
"Now I know," Remo said dully. He hadn't loved her, but somehow the truth hurt. He didn't understand why. "What do we do with her?" Remo asked. "She's still the Low Moo."
"She stabbed her father."
"Yes," said the Low Moo. She sprang to her feet, her eyes flashing. Her bare breasts shook with the vehemence of her words. "The High Moo is dead. I possess the Shark Throne now. And all of its wealth. If you wish to claim any of the coins, you will do as I say."
"No," Chiun said, taking her by the wrist. The Low Moo struggled. The old Korean's fingers tightened like claws. "He lives, thanks to Sinanju."
And Chiun dragged the Low Moo, spitting and scratching, from the room. Remo went along uncertainly.
The Master of Sinanju threw the Low Moo at the feet of her father. She sprawled there, supine and frightened.
"I lay at your feet your assailant," Chiun said coldly. "Speak her fate and I will make it so." His hands went into his kimono sleeves. His spine straightened proudly.
"Wait a minute, Little Father," Remo began. A raised hand hushed him.
The High Moo's eyes were clearing.
"She is my daughter," he said dully. "There is no other I trust. Let her live. She is willful and cruel as a cat, but she only wanted to feel the white man's flesh between her teeth."
Remo shivered in spite of himself.
"There are others," Chiun went on. "Other plotters. Remo has uncovered their perfidy."
"Yeah, it's real bad," Remo offered. "Just about everyone on this anthill wants to kill you. Now I know why. It's their only chance for upward mobility. The Low Moo told us how it really is on your little tropical paradise."
"I need my peasants. Without them, there will be no one to mine the metal, make the coins, and grow the rice. "
"Then choose one or two plotters," Chiun suggested. "I will make an example of them before the others. A few heads sitting on spears is a wonderful deterrent to plotters."
The High Moo shook his head slowly. "I need every peasant. We have already lost too many."
"Then what would you have me do?" Chiun demanded in an exasperated voice.
"Let them go."
"Go! I am royal assassin to the House of Moo. How can I protect you if I cannot deal justice to pretenders to the throne? Where is the deterrent? What is your power?"
"My power lies here," said the High Moo, pointing to his right arm. He lifted his war club feebly. "And in the wealth of my treasure, which every Moovian covets but no one may possess but me."
"In other words," Remo said, "you have nothing."
"Well-spoken," said Chiun, distaste thickening his voice.
"I would sleep," said the High Moo. "Leave me. We will speak of these matters after the sun has restored the color to my empire."
"Some empire," said Remo, turning to go from the room.