Coin of the Realm td-77 Read online

  "Why not? We are on Moo now. You no longer have your lame excuse not to grow them long."

  "Chiun, I'm supposed to be an agent for my government. I gotta blend in with the natives, so to speak."

  "Now that you are on Moo, you can blend in with Moovian natives."

  "I don't see any long-nailed people on Moo either."

  "Nor do I. But where we are now, Emperor Smith's absurd secrecy mania is not in effect. We walk this land known for what we are, admired for our work, and honored for our skills. Wear your nails with pride, Remo. Who knows, you might come to like them."

  "No chance," Remo snapped, grabbing up a sharp knife. He attacked his left hand with the serrated edge. The blade dug in and Remo made furious sawing motions. Dust rose up. Remo paused. To his chagrin, he saw the nail was intact. And the knife had lost its edge.

  "Hey!" he said, looking up. He noticed that Chiun had been bent over his shoulder, watching intently. "Look at this. "

  "Ah, wonderfully strong."

  "Are you kidding? This knife's a joke."

  "I meant the nail."

  "Maybe I can find a metal knife."

  "Not on Moo. All metal is saved for coins and jewelry. And you have ruined a knife of the finest bone."

  Remo looked at the knife. It was white and polished. And over a foot long.

  "Wonder what kind of animal they have on the island to make a knife this long?" he wondered.

  "The fiercest, most dangerous one," Chiun said.

  "Yeah?"

  "Man."

  Remo dropped the knife. "This is a human bone?" he asked.

  Chiun picked it up. "Yes, and from the freshness, I would say it was made from the femur of one of the octopus worshipers we vanquished last night."

  "They use human bone for knives?" Remo said in a dumbstruck voice.

  "Hush, Remo. How many times have I told you never to criticize another empire's way of doing things?"

  "But human bone. It's barbarous."

  "That is easy for you to say, you who come from a land where everything is wasted. Do you know that I have a steamer trunk full of perfectly good toothpicks that careless waiter persons tried to throw out simply because they had been used once?"

  "They were made to be used just once. It's unsanitary to reuse toothpicks."

  "They are washable. On Moo, toothpicks would be handed down from generation to generation by people who know the value of property."

  "I give up," Remo said. "If you'll excuse me ..."

  "Where are you going?"

  "I left my shoes back at the grove."

  "You can retrieve them when we leave-if we leave."

  "No ifs about it. We're leaving. In a month."

  "Before you waste your time, examine your feet."

  "For what? Athlete's foot?"

  When Chiun didn't answer, Remo sat down and pulled off a sock. His toenails were very long. Too long to accommodate his shoes.

  "Damn!" he said. "How'd you know that?"

  "Perhaps I am psychic," Chiun said with a smile.

  "I'm going after my shoes anyway," Remo said, pulling on his sock and storming out the door.

  "I will join you."

  "Suit yourself," Remo growled.

  Chapter 23

  Remo stepped into the blinding tropical sun of the palace courtyard. The courtyard was empty. The ashes of the feast sifted in the breeze. The smells of meat clung to the air. They offended Remo's sensitive nostrils.

  Chiun materialized beside him. "Where is everybody?" Remo asked.

  "Working, of course."

  Remo frowned. "I thought islanders lived the life of Riley. "

  "Who is Riley?"

  "A figment of someone's imagination. Why do people have to work here? They have the sun, all the fruit and fish they could want. This place is a paradise."

  "Come," said Chiun.

  "I want to get my shoes back," Remo said.

  "What I have to show you is on the way to your precious shoes."

  Remo shrugged. He followed silently as Chiun began speaking. The jungle all around them steamed with a pleasant warmth.

  "I have heard you speak of Moo with ill-concealed mockery in your voice. You think Moo is small?"

  "It is small."

  "Once it was larger."

  "I'll bet Old Moo was nothing to crow about either, otherwise why wouldn't anyone have heard about it?" Chiun stopped and whirled.

  "Sinanju has heard of it. And the nation that is looked upon with favor by the House of Sinanju needs nothing else especially the approval of a nation that is only two hundred years old."

  Remo sighed. "Point taken. Shall we just try to keep up the pace?" he suggested.

  Chiun turned and stalked off. It was a while before the dark flush left his face and he resumed speaking.

  "Once, Moo was the great seafaring empire in the world. Before Egypt it was. Before Greece it was, and before the oldest settlements in Africa."

  "Okay, it's old. So's the moon. So what?"

  "Before Sinanju it was," Chiun continued. Remo's face registered surprise. It was rare that Chiun gave anything credit that dimmed the shining beacon that was Sinanju.

  "Yeah?"

  "For in truth, when Moo became a client of Sinanju, Moo was old. Its glory days were waning like the moon that we will behold tonight. It had withdrawn its mighty fleet from the world's seas. Moo had turned inward, beset by octopus worshipers and internal strife. But strong it was still. And its coins were the most prized of all currencies. "

  They walked along a winding jungle path. On either side, Remo saw rice and sweet-potato fields tended by young boys and girls. They stood in the rice fields, ankle-deep in brown water. Their bare brown backs were bent. They paid Remo and Chiun no heed.

  "The rice did not grow itself in the days of Old Moo, either," Chiun remarked dryly.

  "They could live off the coconuts."

  "You could live off egg-lemon soup if you wished. But variety is preferable."

  "I wouldn't mind a steady diet of it."

  "Good," Chiun murmured.

  "What's that?" Remo asked.

  "Moo was strong because it produced abundant food," Chiun went on as if he hadn't heard. "It is a tradition that the current High Moo holds dear. Each year, they grow more rice than necessary. This way they never want."

  "How come I see only boys and girls? Where are the adults? Fishing?"

  "Some fish. The women do that."

  "What about the men?"

  "Have you forgotten the coins of Moo?"

  "Oh, right," Remo said as the path began to dip toward the lagoon. "The mines."

  "Moo had the most powerful currency because Moo had the greatest treasury. Its treasure house held stack after stack of the great round coins. For the Moovians were great miners in those days."

  "These days too," Remo said, jerking a thumb at a shored-up hole in the side of a creeper-overgrown hillock. It was the third abandoned mine they had spotted during their walk.

  "They have fewer mines, but they work them very hard. So the High Moo told me."

  They came at last to the lagoon where their junk lay anchored.

  "Still there," Remo said.

  "Of course. Why should it not be?"

  "No reason. I was just thinking it's our only ticket home."

  "Assuming that it does not sink," Chiun said.

  "Don't even say it out loud."

  Chiun turned. He allowed himself a gentle smile.

  "I merely jested. Can you not take a joke in return, O teller of Moo jokes?"

  "Touche," admitted Remo. He jerked his thumb to the right. "The grove is over that way."

  "Soon, soon. For now look to the east."

  Remo shielded his eyes from the sun. It was at its apex. High noon. Remo wondered what time it was back in America.

  "I see water," he said.

  "Do you see the far water that touches the very sky?"

  "You mean the horizon? Sure."

  Chi
un nodded. "Now look to the south. Do you see that horizon?"

  "Sure. "

  "And north? And west?"

  "That's a lot of water."

  "If you could see twice as far in all directions, still your gaze would not encompass the whole of the Empire of Moo. "

  "From where I stand, Moo is about three square miles," Remo said flatly. "Most of it vertical."

  "I feel like a swim," Chiun said brightly. "Will you join me?"

  "Is that an invitation or a command?"

  "Did it sound like an invitation?"

  "Yeah, but I'm wondering what will happen if I decline."

  "Do not decline and you will forever have a mystery to ponder," Chiun said.

  Remo considered. "Lead on," he said. "I don't know where this is going, but obviously it's going somewhere. Without another word, Chiun waded into the water. When it was up to his chest, he slid onto his stomach and began striking out for open water. Remo dug in after him. Three miles out they had left the junk behind, and Chiun paused, treading water.

  "Come, Remo. I want to show you something."

  And Chiun disappeared as if something had pulled him down by the leg. Remo jackknifed in place. The water closed in over his head. It was cool, and clearer than he had expected.

  Remo homed in on the trailing air bubbles left by the Master of Sinanju. A hammerhead shark cruised into view, but left them alone. Other, more colorful fish scattered out of Chiun's path. Remo kept his eyes out for octopi, but he saw none. For as far as the eye could see, the ocean floor was a fairyland of multicolored coral formations.

  Hundreds of feet below, Chiun alighted on a sprawling pink coral outcropping. Remo settled beside him, his stocking feet touching the sandpaperlike coral.

  Remo faced Chiun. Sea shadows dappled their faces. Remo made a question mark with a finger.

  Chiun bent over and chopped away a chunk of coral with his hand. Under the coral, a flat gray surface was exposed. Chiun continued chipping away. Finally he had a man-size place on which to stand. He stamped his foot once and disappeared. There was only a hole in the gray surface to show that he had stood there.

  Remo hesitated, thinking of octopi. Then he dived into the hole.

  Inside, Remo found himself in a square room. Dead seaweed clung to what he recognized were stone benches. There were murals on the walls. They were made up of colored tiles. There was just enough sea-filtered light coming in that Remo could make out scenes of a great city with tall towers and golden domes. People dressed like Greeks, in togas and short skirts, were visible on the depicted walkways.

  Remo realized he was inside a sunken house of Old Moo. Chiun disappeared into an adjoining room. Remo swam after him.

  Though not impressive by the modern standards of Western architecture, for buildings that were thousands of years old, they were magnificent.

  Remo touched pottery jars, wooden chests that had fallen in from the eroding action of the sea. They swam down a long tunnel with muraled walls. The light grew dimmer.

  Eventually they came to a huge vaulted room. Remo sensed the expanding space. He kicked himself up to the ceiling, and touched stone blocks. He started pulling them loose. The mortar was brittle. He got through to pink coral. A series of rapid straight-fingered blows brought the coral floating down in chunks.

  Greenish light flooded the room. Pushing off, Remo joined Chiun.

  The Master of Sinanju floated like a jellyfish. His legs scissored, keeping him upright. With spread arms he indicated the distant walls.

  Every wall was the same. Row upon row of glass vessels. They were huge. Each wall had been built up with shelves so that the vessels covered every available square foot of wall.

  Remo swam for one of them and floated before it.

  He touched it. It was like a jug, stoppered with a glass plug. The edges were sealed with clay or tar to make them waterproof Inside, a man floated. He was shriveled into a near-fetal position. Remo saw a wizened face, the eyes closed as if in sleep. He went to the next vessel. A woman, young and peaceful of face, hung up against the glass. Her feet touched the bottom, but the narrow base kept her from slipping into a pile of inert flesh. Her shoulder leaned against the wall nearest Remo, and Remo felt as if he could reach out and touch her.

  Every vessel contained a body floating in a reddish fluid.

  Remo paddled away from them, suddenly horrified by the great number of dead people.

  He found Chiun searching among the vessels. Remo had started toward him when the Master of Sinanju suddenly darted away like a frightened fish.

  The walls trembled. The water stirred. Remo felt a sudden current. He saw wood particles swirl up from a top shelf. The shelf began to tilt. Remo moved, impelled by an unexplained fear. He got under the shelf, took it in both hands. His kicking feet sought purchase. They touched a glass stopper and, in fear of upsetting the jug, recoiled.

  Chiun swam into view. He made quick lifting motions with his hands. Remo nodded. He understood. He was to hold up the shelf. Chiun would do the rest.

  One by one, Chiun wrapped his frail-appearing arms around the vessels and carried them to the floor. He made an arrangement of them until the shelf was bare. Then Remo yanked the shelf free and sent it floating away.

  Chiun began making hand signs toward the roof opening. Remo nodded. Then a wall cracked. The shelving held, but one vessel teetered. Remo darted for it. He was too late.

  The jug broke apart soundlessly. Red fluid billowed and spread like a bloody cloud. Remo kicked into reverse. He tasted alcohol. Wine. The bodies had been preserved in wine. He spit furiously, knowing that alcohol was dangerous to his system.

  The body-it was that of a middle-aged man in a toga-lay covered in glass. One foot floated away, severed by glass. It looked as if it were trailing blood, but Remo knew that the dead didn't bleed.

  Chiun was suddenly tugging at his bare forearm and Remo floated for the ceiling opening. Chiun squeezed through easily. Remo had to break off more coral before he made it.

  Emerging from the outcropping, Remo was suddenly aware of the vast falling-away of the ocean floor on this side of the encrusted building. For miles to the east, there was rank upon rank of the strange coral formations. Not all were coral. There was a shattered tower not far away. A dome like an inverted cracked bowl expelled a string of blue-green fish. Silt kicked up from the ocean floor.

  And Remo felt a coldness that had nothing to do with the ocean temperature. He was looking upon Old Moo-what was left of it.

  When his head broke the surface, Chiun was already there, taking measured breaths.

  "It's all down there, isn't it?" Remo said. There was moisture on his face that wasn't seawater. His voice was twisted.

  "Yes, my son," Chiun said sadly. "You have been privileged to visit that which no man-not even Moovian man-has seen since the young sun of earth's past touched those buildings. Old Moo."

  "We shouldn't have disturbed them. Look what happened. "

  "Have no regrets, Remo. We did not cause that disturbance. It was a shifting of the ocean floor."

  "Moo really sank. The whole thing. And it stretched forever in all directions."

  "Think not that any empire is forever. Even your America exists only at the whim of the universe."

  Remo was silent a long time. "What was that place? With the bodies?"

  "The Royal Tomb of the Line of Moo. The High Moo told me that it would be found there."

  "You led me there on purpose. Why?"

  "You were just along for the ride," Chiun said. "I wished to behold the face of the High Moo whom Master Mangko knew. "

  "Why?"

  "Call me sentimental," Chiun said. And Remo laughed. They struck off for land. Chiun paused at the junk and climbed aboard. Remo waited at his command. Chiun threw over a bag. Remo caught it. It jingled. He didn't have to open it to know it contained the coins given to Chiun by the Low Moo.

  "Planning a shopping spree, Little Father?" Remo asked when Chiun splashed to
his side. Chiun had donned an emerald-and-gold kimono.

  "The High Moo kindly offered to store the entire payment in his treasure house while we sojourn on his island."

  "I wish there was someplace we could store this junk."

  "The typhoon season is months away," Chiun assured him.

  They made land at the coral reef where the night before they had fought the octopus men. Remo passed the coins to Chiun while he plunged into the Grove of Ghosts. He found his shoes where he had left them and, sitting on the ground, tried to put them on. They wouldn't fit. His toenails were too long.

  Cursing, he carried them out, past the totems. He knocked one off its base out of pique.

  "Don't say you told me so," Remo said when Chiun saw him carrying his shoes.

  "I won't."

  "Good. "

  "But I did."

  Remo's retort died in his mouth. Plunging through the jungle was a bouncing-bosomed maiden.

  "Wiki-wiki! Oh, come! Men of Sinanchu!" she cried. "An assassin has struck down the High Moo. Hurry! Wiki-wiki!"

  Chapter 24

  Shane Billiken recognized that people had different tastes. He could get next to that concept. It was real. People were individuals, after all. We shared the same planet. We were all connected, all part of the dao, but human diversity was one of the universal constants too.

  "Okay, so you don't like cheese," he said. He tried to keep his voice even. It was hard when you were facing a half-dozen mercenaries armed with automatic weapons and there was no place to run. Unless you counted a hundred square miles of ocean. "But you could get used to it," he added hopefully. He smiled under his Ray-Bans.

  "Cheese gives me gas," said Dirk Edwards, AKA Ed the Eliminator. He had decided that since they were over a hundred miles out of Southern California and the wind was good, it was time to chow down.

  He had gone below to the larder whistling. He came up like a rogue elephant. When the word passed through the crew that the provisions aboard the newly christened New Age Hope consisted of three kinds of hard cheese and two soft, Shane Billiken, taking his turn at the wheel, found himself surrounded.

  "I once wrote a whole book about cheeses," Shane went on quickly. "Do you know it's the perfect food? It provides calcium and iron, reduces stress, and is a natural anticarcinogen. Best of all-and I know you guys will appreciate this-when you apply it to boils and wounds, it promotes healing."