Remo leaned on the edge of Smith's wide desk. "I thought I dealt with her last time," he mumbled bitterly.
"An error that cannot be blamed on Sinanju," Chiun quickly pointed out from the floor. "For the cape in which it has cloaked itself is that of Man. We did not know then that the beast Remo battled had perverted nature by granting itself nine lives. We took but one before. This time, we will do away with the remaining eight."
"Just one of her was plenty tough, Little Father," Remo said. "I don't like the idea of a lion's den filled with eight Judith Whites. Even Daniel didn't have to put up with that."
Chiun shook his head angrily. His wisps of yellowing white hair danced above his ears. "Stop mentioning that troublesome wizard," he hissed.
Remo raised an eyebrow at the edge in the Master of Sinanju's voice. He shot a glance at Smith, but the CURE director had turned his attention back to his computer. Flint gray eyes studied the scrolling data stream.
"Okay-" settling on the floor next to his teacher. Remo asked "-what gives with Sinanju and Daniel?"
The old man made certain Smith was not listening. Satisfied they weren't being eavesdropped on, he turned his attention to Remo.
"You remember the tale of Master Songjong?" Chiun asked.
Remo nodded. "Pupil of Vimu. Let his Master go to Egypt to slay a princeling when he should have gone himself. Vimu died away from Sinanju, leaving poor Songjong with the mother of all headaches once he reached the Void."
Chiun crinkled his nose. "That is essentially correct," he admitted slowly. Curious fingers clutched the tip of his beard. "But why would you think that Songjong was vexed when death carried him to the place of his ancestors?"
Remo shrugged. "Nothing pissier than a Master of Sinanju with a headful of self-righteous indignation."
"And on what, pray, do you base such an assumption?"
Remo cast a slow, careful glance up and down Chiun's robes of celebration. "Absolutely wild, unsupportable conjecture?" he asked hopefully.
The Master of Sinanju's eyes were slits of suspicion. "Kindly hypothesize on your own time," he said. He smoothed the knees of his black robes.
"Whatever happened to Songjong after death is his concern," the old Korean continued. "It is his life that is recorded in the annals of Sinanju." His voice assumed the cadence of instruction. "After the death of Vimu, Songjong traveled to Babylon, there to pursue employment in the court of Nebuchadnezzar. The death of his Master had brought great sadness to the heart of Songjong, for he rightly took the blame for the fate that had befallen Vimu. He determined to repay his debt in this life by amassing tribute so great as to wipe the stain of shame away from his name in the histories of our village.
"King Nebuchadnezzar joyously welcomed Master Songjong, for well he knew of the Pearl of the Orient and the assassins it produced. This because another Babylonian king of the same name had been blessed with the services of a previous Master half a century before. So Songjong found employment with Nebuchadnezzar, and great was his reign. For a time."
At his desk, the CURE director briefly looked up in mild annoyance. "You do not have to wait here," he said.
Remo waved Smith away. "We don't mind." To Chiun he said, "Did things sour in Babylon?"
"In a manner of speaking," Chiun replied vaguely. He continued before Remo could question further. "It was after the capture of Jerusalem. Thanks to the strategic use of the Master of Sinanju's skills and council, Nebuchadnezzar enjoyed a great victory over the Hebrew kingdom. The city was destroyed, and a large group of prisoners was taken away. Some were of royal descent. One of these was a troublesome young know-it-all named Daniel.
"Now Songjong saw mischief in the eyes of this young nuisance and, rather than allow him to work some wicked scheme of revenge against his captors, recommended to the king that the youth be put to death. But Nebuchadnezzar was flushed with his great victory and dismissed the advice.
"While in service to the king, Songjong did occasionally travel to distant corners of the kingdom. One night while Songjong was away, the king had a distressing dream. When none of his wise men could interpret it, he summoned the captive Daniel, who had a reputation as a sort of soothsayer. To the delight of Nebuchadnezzar, the slave was able to discern the meaning of the dream."
"No kidding," Remo said. "What did it mean?"
"What?" Chiun asked, annoyed that the flow of his narrative had been disrupted.
"The dream. What did it mean?"
"How should I know?" the Master of Sinanju said, scowling. "Dreams are baby stories created by the gods to keep the brains of dimwits busy at night-lest, restive, they scurry out ears and scamper away."
"I thought they were a wish your heart made."
The old man gave him a baleful look. "There are inmates under lock and key here at Fortress Folcroft who have greater attention spans than you. Perhaps I will go tell Songjong's tale to them."
"No fair," Remo said. "They're strapped to their beds. There's probably a law." An icy stare and he raised his hands in surrender.
Chiun resumed his storytelling tone. "Though a king, Nebuchadnezzar was not the wisest man in his kingdom. Rather than simply accept the fool words of his lying captive, he sought to reward the wizard who claimed to have insight into the dreams of men. By the time Songjong returned from his journey, Daniel had risen from the position of lowly captive to ruler of the whole district of Babylon."
"That must have been one hell of a dream."
"Since it was the king's wish that Daniel hold this station, Songjong attempted to make the arrangement work. However, he soon discovered that all was not as it had been. Nebuchadnezzar soon began to rely more on the slave's counsel than on that of Songjong. Not long after Daniel's ascendancy in his court, Nebuchadnezzar was discovered attempting to milk a dog."
Remo's brow dropped low. "Attempting to what a what?" he asked, voice fiat.
"Songjong thought it strange, as well," Chiun agreed, nodding wisely.
"I should hope so," Remo replied.
"But the lapse in the king's sanity did not last. Soon Nebuchadnezzar was himself once more. He resumed his great work of cultivating the Chaldean Empire, which he had established with the aid of Songjong. In this time he also built the Hanging Gardens of Babylon for his wife. All was well. Until the day he was found cavorting naked with a leper in the pool of the god Marduk Bel."
Remo sighed. "I'm beginning to see a pattern here."
Chiun nodded. "As did Songjong. He suspected that the Hebrew captive Daniel was responsible for the king's bouts of madness. He was a diviner and a wizard, as well as a man who had seen his homeland destroyed by Nebuchadnezzar. The deterioration of the king's mind coincided with Daniel's arrival. It was a logical assumption."
"So was he slipping Nebuch a mickey, or what?"
"Songjong never found out," Chiun said, voice sad. "Nebuchadnezzar was too steeped in madness to learn the truth. When he began to imagine himself an ox and journey into the fields to eat grass, Songjong shook the dust of Babylon from his sandals and left to seek out other clients."
The Master of Sinanju stopped. Sighing with great sadness, he began to fuss with the knees of his robes. Remo waited for him to continue, but the old man seemed finished.
"And?" Remo asked.
"And what?" the Master of Sinanju said.
"What happened to Songjong?"
Chiun seemed puzzled by the question. "I told you. He went off to ply his art elsewhere."
"So what about Daniel?"
"Daniel the Nuisance thrived in the court of mad King Nebuchadnezzar. Of course he fell out of favor in time and was thrown into a den of lions, as you are annoyingly aware, thanks to that Christian almshouse where you wasted your youth. He claimed after his safe deliverance that the God of Israel sent angels to shut the lions' mouths. It is more likely that the animals did not like the taste of ham."
"So that's it?" Remo asked. "We hold a three-thousand-year-old grudge against Daniel just 'cause he outfoxed us?"
"While that is more than enough," Chiun said, "there is another moral..." He arched an eyebrow.
His age-speckled head tipped ever so slightly in Smith's direction.