Fanning himself with his hat, Melvis scanned the sea of heads. His chest expanded to see so many rail fans gathered in one spot. These were God's people, he reflected. There weren't truer or more-natural souls trampling God's good green footstool.
"If only I can rope K.C.," he muttered, "I'll be content with my lot in life."
His eyes, scanning the giant outdoor pavilions, rested on the largest of them all. A banner was hung across the entrance: MAGLEV RIDE THE FUTURE OF RAIL NOW
"If she's here, she's in that heathen den of iniquity," Melvis muttered. He swallowed hard. "Guess I just gotta steel myself and sashay into the lion's den," he said, picking up his packages.
Melvis strode toward the sign, his knees growing weak, his heart starting to trip-hammer.
"Steel wheels are my life," he told himself. "But if I gotta eat a little cold crow to catch me a rail-friendly wife, well, I'm man enough to do that, I reckon."
AT THE RAIL Expo entrance, the Master of Sinanju refused to get in line.
"I am Reigning Master," he told Remo. "I will not stand in line with the common peasantry."
Remo looked at him. "So I have to?"
"No, you do not have to. But I will not stand in line."
"This is a co-equal partnership," Remo argued.
"If it is a co-equal partnership," Chiun retorted, "why I am burdened with these?" And he raised the pair of katana blades wrapped in butcher paper to disguise them.
"Because you insisted," Remo shot back.
In the end, Remo stood in line and, when the line finally reached the ticket booth, he waved Chiun to cut in front of him.
At Remo's back a commotion started up.
"Hey! That's not fair!" the customer behind him complained.
"I'm not with him," Remo said.
"You let him cut in front of you."
"No. He cut in front of me. I just didn't stop him."
When Chiun reached the head of the line, he came face-to-face with a slick-haired Japanese ticket taker in a tuxedo.
Their eyes met, and the ticket taker started to say something.
"Pay this Nihonjinwa, Remo," said Chiun, marching through the entrance gate.
Remo dug into a pocket.
"You are with him?" the ticket taker said thinly.
"Only as far as the grave," muttered Remo, handing over a fifty-dollar bill. "What time does Batsucker show up?" he asked.
"Batsuka-san due at one," he was told.
"I can hardly wait."
Inside, Remo found Chiun standing in the shadow of a giant black locomotive.
"Come on."
"What is the hurry?" asked Chiun, examining the wheels.
"We're on an assignment."
"Does that mean we cannot stop to smell the steam?"
"We can smell the steam after we bust the ronin."
Chiun looked up with appealing hazel eyes. "Promise?"
"Scout's honor," sighed Remo.
They walked on. Chiun carried his hands in his silvery kimono sleeves, where his broken nail would go unnoticed.
"Keep your eyes peeled for the Nishitsu booth or whatever it is. That's where Batsucker will be."
"You have peeled-eye duty," Chiun sniffed. "I am entrusted with the katanas, and so with the honor of the House."
They moved through the shifting sea of humanity like two needles passing through coarse-woven fabric on a moving loom. Even people not watching where they were going managed to miss bumping into them.
Remo got Chiun past the old-steam-engines section without too much delay.
Chiun's frown deepened.
"What's wrong?" asked Remo.
"I did not see my heart's desire."
"What's that?"
"A Mikado 2-8-2."
"I think they'll be kinda scarce here."
"I see trains from other nations. Why is the pride of the Kyong-Ji Line absent?"
"After this is over, you can write your congressman," Remo said dryly.
The flea-market tents were the most congested. Chiun insisted upon stopping at every table to ask if they had heard of the Kyong-Ji Line.