"We'll see," Remo said slowly. "Let's find Chiun."
"He is coming in on Kiwi Airlines."
"Wonderful," Remo said. "That means either he'll be six hours late or he went down in flames over Pittsburgh."
"It was the most reasonable flight I was able to book for him on short notice."
"And they have the most wonderful frequent flier program in the air," Remo added. "Right?"
"Er, that is true."
"Which no one has ever managed to collect on, because they either ate tarmac or couldn't stomach flying Kiwi a second time."
"Those stories are exaggerated," Smith said defensively.
They found the Master of Sinanju in the baggage area, patiently waiting for his luggage.
He stood regarding the unmoving baggage conveyer belt like a tiny Asian idol carved from amber and dressed in scarlet silk. His face, in repose, might have worn the accumulated lines of his combined ancestors, the previous Masters of Sinanju, heirs to the House of Sinanju, the oldest line of professional assassins in human history and discoverers of the sun source of all the martial arts, which was also known as Sinanju.
"Hey, Little Father," Remo called. "I see you made it in one piece."
Chiun, Reigning Master of Sinanju, turned. At the sight of Remo his wrinkled little face broke out in a beaming smile. His wise hazel eyes brightened.
"Remo! I am so happy to see you!" he squeaked.
"Great," said Remo, quickening his pace. It was true what they said. Absence does make the heart grow fonder.
"For now I have someone to carry my trunks," Chiun added.
Remo's face fell. He struggled to keep his voice light. "How many'd you bring this time?"
"All."
Remo's eye went wide.
"All fourteen!"
Chiun brought a yellow hand like an eagle's claw to the wisp of beard that straggled down from his chin. "Of course. For it is moving day. No more will I have to bear them hither and yon, like a vagabond."
"Vagabonds usually settle for a change of clothes, knotted in a ball and hanging off a stick. Not fourteen freaking trunks."
And before the Master of Sinanju could reply to that, the trunks began bumping through the hanging leather straps.
The first was a gray lacquer monstrosity in which scarlet dragons vied with golden phoenixes for hegemony.
Chiun gestured with a hand whose long fingernails were like pale blades, and said, "Remo."
Unhappily, Remo took hold of the trunk and lifted it free of the conveyor belt. He set it to the floor, and at once the Master of Sinanju drifted up and began examining the lacquer and brass trim for nicks and other blemishes.
"It has survived unscathed," he announced sagely. The overhead lights shone on the amber eggshell that was his skull. Tiny puffs of cloudy white hair enveloped the tops of his ears.
"Only thirteen more to go," Remo muttered.
Then next trunk was mostly mother-of-pearl. It had collected no scratches.
And the others began coming, in a colorful sequence like a toy train.
One by one, Remo hefted them off the belt to join the growing pile. In a corner, Harold Smith buried his long nose in his newspaper and gave off a studied "I'm not with them" air.
"Smith tell you anything about this castle?" Remo asked Chiun.
"Only that it is in an exclusive area in an historical town. "
"It would have to be if there's a castle involved."
"This is a good area, Remo," Chiun whispered.
"Since when?"
"It is one of the older provinces in this young country. It is very British."
"Since when are we Anglophiles?"
"The House has worked for Great Britain," Chiun pointed out.
"And sometimes against them."
"But more for them," said Chiun, dismissing the unimportant detour in historical truth.
The thirteenth trunk was green and gold, and after Remo set it down, the conveyor belt came to a dead stop.
"Hey? Is that all of them?" he asked.
Chiun's wrinkled features stiffened. "No. There is one missing."
Remo snagged a skycap.
"My friend here is missing a piece of luggage," he explained.
The skycap looked at the preposterous pile of trunks and commented, "How can you tell?"
"Because we can count. Why did the belt stop?"
"Because they finished unloading all the luggage."
"You're not saying it's lost," Remo said in as low a voice as possible.