"Ridiculous," Chiun said. "No one would have noticed. They al! look the same, dressed in those obscene things."
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"I can't argue all day. The plain fact is, you assaulted two people who weren't doing anything wrong."
"Weren't-" Chiun staggered back, speechless. "But did you not see the extreme offense they were perpetrating upon my being?"
"How could I? I was in here."
Chiun's face was steely. "With that woman of the yellow hair and deformed chest, no doubt."
"That's beside the point. What'd they do?"
"They sought to shame me publicly," Chiun said, his eyes downcast. "Publicly. In the middle of a parade."
"You can do better than that," Remo said. "A parade? Out in the snow? Come on, Chiun."
"It is true. While you were up here procreating with the bulbous white thing, the rest of these fools disappeared and came back wearing those nightgowns and holding candles and chanting and marching. They marched around the room. Then they formed ranks and marched outside. As it was the first interesting thing these slugs had done all evening, i deigned to join them. For their benefit I sang to them the song of the Marching Cypriots, who were also fools in nightgowns."
"So?"
"So then I was assaulted. I. Not they."
"For singing?"
Chiun sighed. "No, dim one. No one assaults the Master of Sinanju for his faultless singing. It is as the song of the winged bird-"
"For what, then?" Remo asked, exasperated.
"For refusing to wear one of their nightgowns!" Chiun shrieked. "Can you understand nothing? Those two men dared to halt the parade to demand
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that i remove my splendid robe and replace it with primitive white garb. It was shocking."
"Look, I don't know why they're wearing those things, either," Remo said. "But it still wasn't any reason to deck them."
"I did not deck them," Chiun said with dignity. "I exercised the double-spiral air blow. Barely a touch. Oh, it was so beautiful. ..."
"Well, it didn't happen, okay?" Remo said, listening to the rising chant of the crowd calling for him outside the door. "Those two guys you almost killed are willing to say you never touched them."
Chiun smiled. "That is kind, Remo. But even the Master of Sinanju cannot execute a spiral air blow without any touching whatsoever. Oh, it was slight, just the merest flick, but nevertheless-"
"I mean they're going to say they got up there by themselves."
Chiun's eyes flashed open into saucers. "What?"
"And then nobody'll try to throw us out. We've got to stay here long enough for me to put the screws to that Dr. Foxx."
"Themselves? Those two flabby hoglets? Surely you're joking."
"It's the only way, Chiun."
Chiun glared at him. "Et tu, Remo," he said. "To think how I have trusted you, nourished you with my sweat and my work, only to be stabbed in the back by so ungrateful a pupil as to sully the glorious House of Sinanju itself."
"Trust me," Remo said, walking toward the door.
"Trust?" Chiun said with a weak puff of a laugh. "He speaks to me of trust. He who has thrust the dagger into my breast."
"Hi, gang," Remo said to the throng outside.
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Waves and cheers went up as Burdich and the Texan warded off the searching hands.
"Re-mo! Re-mo!"
"Oh, my heart," Chiun groaned.
"Speech! Speech!"
"No, really," Remo said, smiling shyly. "It was no big deal. These fellows just got themselves into a little trouble, right?" He elbowed Burdich in the ribs.
"Right."
"He has even prepared his accomplices," wailed Chiun from the interior of the bedroom.
"Hey, who's in there?" someone asked.
"Nobody," Remo said quickly.
"Nobody!" wailed Chiun.
"I've got an idea," Remo said. "Let's all go downstairs."
"Marvelous," called out the purring voice of Posie Ponseile. She snaked forward and touched the Texan's hand, which was blocking the path to Remo. "Down, boy," she said, clasping Remo's hand. "Dr. Foxx is waiting to meet our hero." She winked at him and whispered, "As promised,"
"Thanks, Posie."
"Our hero," a woman nearby gushed.
A sound like a protracted case of Cheyne-Stokes breathing emanated from the room behind Remo.
Foxx sat in his study, wearing a silk Sulka dressing gown and holding a spoon of cocaine up to his nose. He greeted Remo with a powerful snort. "The man of the hour," he said, offering the spoon to Remo.
"No thanks. It gives me zits."