"Happy to hear it. Because I'm in a duck mood tonight."
"This is good because duck will be served tonight and every night for the foreseeable future."
"That's more duck than I was looking forward to."
They reached the top of the stairs.
"That is because there is no fish," said Chiun, without elaborating further.
They ate in the kitchen at a low taboret. The rice was white and sticky, steamed exactly the way Remo liked it, and served in bamboo bowls.
The duck lay supine in a light orange sauce.
Remo was surprised when the old woman who padded about the kitchen like a mute served Chiun a bowl of fish-head soup.
"I thought you said there was no fish," said Remo.
"There is no fish. For you."
"But there's fish for you."
"I did not fail in my mission," Chiun said aridly.
"Usually we eat the same thing."
"From this day until the honor of the House is avenged, you are reduced to duck rations. You will eat roast duck, pressed duck, steamed duck and cold, leftover duck. Mostly you will eat cold duck. And you will like it."
"I'll put up with it, but I won't like it," said Remo, poking at the duck's brown skin with a silver chopstick. "So, what's with the housekeeper?"
"I decided this today."
"She's South Korean, not North."
Chiun looked interested. "Very good, Remo. How can you tell this? By the eyes? The shape of the head?"
"By the fact that she hasn't eaten her way through the cupboard."
Chiun frowned. "Southerners make proper servants, but are of low character. I would not make a servant of a Northerner. Since she is Korean, but not of our blood, she is tolerable."
"You know, this might be a security problem."
"Her English is imperfect."
"I noticed," Remo said dryly.
"And I am weary of cooking for you and cleaning up after you."
"I pull my load."
"Not today. Today you lost an entire ship and its valuable cargo."
"That reminds me," said Remo, "what's Ingo Pungo mean?"
"You understand Korean."
"I don't know every word."
"You know ingo."
"Sounds familiar."
"You know kum."
"Sure. Kum is 'gold.'"
Chiun lifted one chopstick. "This is ingo."
"I remember now. It means 'silver.'"
With his silver chopstick, Chiun speared a fish head from his soup broth. "And this is pungo."
"A fish?"
"Not a fish. Fish is not fish. Fish have names. They have tastes and textures and even ancestries. River fish are different from ocean fish. Pacific fish are superior to Atlantic fish."
"Since when?"
"This soup is made from the heads of Pacific fishes."
Remo leaned over the taboret and scrutinized the fish head. It stared back.
"Don't recognize it," he admitted.
"It is carp."
"Ingo Pungo means Silver Carp?"
"Yes. It is a very worthy name for a vessel."
"Maybe. I never much liked carp."
"No, you are an eater of shark."
"It was a necessity," grumbled Remo.
"Not as much a necessity as bathing."