"Don't worry, Little Father," Remo said tenderly. "I'll get the villagers down here to help with the gold."
"No," said Chiun. "They must not see me like this. Help me to my feet, Remo."
"You can't get up," said Remo. "You're ill."
"I may be ill, but I am still the Master of Sinanju. I do not want the people of my village to see me like this. They might lose heart. Assist me to my feet."
Reluctantly Remo stripped the blanket free. Chiun eased himself up like an arthritic. Remo took him by the arm and helped him to his feet.
"Dispose of that thing," said Chiun. "I will not look at it again."
Remo shrugged. "Whatever you say, Little Father," and he took the wheelchair in both hands and with a half-twist of his body sent it arcing up into the star-sprinkled sky. It splashed into the bay waters far out past the wave line.
Chiun stood, unsteady on his feet, his arms tucked into his voluminous sleeves. He sniffed the air delicately.
"I am home," he intoned. "These are the smells of my childhood and they fill my old heart."
"I smell dead fish," Remo said sourly.
"Silence," commanded the Master of Sinanju. "Do not spoil my homecoming with your white complaints."
"I'm sorry, Little Father," Remo said contritely. "Do you want me to fetch the villagers now?"
"They will come," said Chiun.
"It's the middle of the night. If I know these people, they've been asleep since Tuesday."
"They will come," said Chiun stubbornly.
But they did not come. Remo still wore the turtleneck jersey that concealed his bruised throat. The chill wind off the bay cut through it like a glittering knife. And in response, his body temperature automatically rose, fending off the cold with an internal wave of heat.
Remo felt warmer immediately, but he worried about Chiun, standing proud and barefoot in his purple homecoming robes.
"Little Father," Remo started to say, but Chiun cut him off with a chop of his hand.
"Hark," said Chiun.
"I don't hear anything," said Remo.
"Have you no ears?" demanded Chiun. "Listen to its cry."
And Remo, seeing a flash of white wing in the moonlight, realized what Chiun meant. "It's only a sea gull," he said.
"It is the sea gull of welcome," said Chiun, and putting his lips together, whistled a high, keening call.
Chiun turned to Remo. "I was welcoming him in return," he explained.
A minute later, a dark figure stepped out from behind a barnacle-encrusted boulder. Others followed. They advanced slowly, timidly.
"See?" said Chiun. "I told you they would come."
"I think they're investigating your little tete-a-tete with the sea gull."
"Nonsense," said Chiun. "They sensed the awesome magnificence that is the Master of Sinanju, and it has pulled them from their contented sleep."
"Anything you say, Chiun."
The first to approach was an old man, not so old as Chiun. He was taller, and broader of face.
"Hail, Master of Sinanju," the old man intoned in formal Korean, "who sustains the village and keeps the code faithfully. Our hearts cry a thousand greetings of love and adoration. Joyous are we upon the return of him who graciously throttles the universe."
And Chiun bowed in return, whispering to Remo in English, "Take note. This is proper respect, properly paid."
"If you ask me, I think he's unhappy about being woken up," Remo hissed back.
Chiun ignored him.
"Know you now that the sun has at last set upon my evil labors," he replied, also in formal Korean. "I am now come home to drink in the sights of the home village, to hear again the sounds of my youth, and to spend my declining days."
There was a sleepy mutter of approval from the others.
"And I have brought my adopted son, Remo, to carry on the great line of my ancestors," Chiun said expansively.
Silence.
"Behold the tribute I have brought from the land of the round-eyed barbarians," Chiun exclaimed loudly.
The crowd burst into cheering and whistling. They descended upon the crates of gold ingots and, like starved locusts, carried them off.
"Bring the palanquin of the Master," called the old man, who was known as Pullyang, the caretaker. And swiftly, others approached, bearing a litter of rosewood and ivory, like those in which the pharaohs of old were carried. They set it at Chiun's feet, and Remo helped him in.
"I don't think they like me any more than last time I was here," Remo whispered in English.
"They are overwhelmed by my unexpected return. Do not worry, Remo. I have told them all about you."
"No wonder they hate me," Remo grunted.
"They have changed. You will see."
Remo started to get into the palanquin, but the old man called Pullyang suddenly got in his way and gave a signal.
The palanquin was lifted aloft and swiftly borne inland.
"What about me?" asked Remo, in Korean.
"You may carry the lacquer trunks of the Master," Pullyang said disdainfully, and hurried off after Chiun.