"Sometimes when you look at things, you don't see them, Remo," he said, with a wisdom older than his physical age. "Sometimes you have to look from the side to know what it is you've seen. It's almost your time. Be sure when you go to look that you see what you should, not what you want to see."
He seemed to want to smile. But the ability to do so had been trained out of him long before he'd shucked his corporeal form. Once he was through speaking, the little boy merely put his hands to the sides of his black tunic and allowed the growing night to claim him.
Remo was left alone in the endless soughing plain, a look of confusion seeping across his face. At his feet, the rocks and grass the boy had been playing with still sat. But the woven huts of a moment before were now simple piles of grass. The stone men, once more chunks of smooth gray rock. Remo opened his hand.
A carved Korean face looked up at him.
He slipped the figure into his pocket. Turning from the mashed-down field, he headed back down the path to the waiting Blazer, his face tight with silent reflection.
ON A HIGH BLUFF that looked out over the great, sweeping plains of the Luzu empire, a lone sentry stood.
Behind him, the dead rock mouth of a played-out diamond mine swallowed night shadows. Before him, the gods bled into the vast twilight sky.
Eyes trained keen watched the solitary truck as it traveled the off-road path from Bachsburg. When the vehicle stopped suddenly, the native grew more alert.
A dark figure emerged, vanishing into the tall grass. Dusk was nearly gone by the time he reappeared. After another minute, the truck resumed its stubborn path into the heart of Luzuland.
The sentry watched it come.
One truck. Only a handful of men.
The bright light of the rising moon found no expression on the native's features.
Spear in hand, the sentry slipped down the round rock face. On bare feet he ran back toward the main Luzu village.
NIGHT DESCENDED on Africa like a settling shroud. As the moon yawned full in the star-choked sky, bathing the rolling plains in spectral white, the Blazer headed deeper into Luzuland.
In the truck's dashboard were ten deep indentations, the shape of the driver's fingers. Behind the wheel, between hateful glances at Remo, the man flexed each hand in turn, trying to force away the residual numbness.
Unlike the first leg of their journey, Remo's thoughts had found focus. As they drove, he stared out the windshield, alert to all that was around them.
The old rutted path grew worse. Around him, Deferens's men bounced and jostled on squeaking springs.
When they had at last traversed the plain and the truck broke through the claustrophobic stretch of dry grass, a rocky expanse funneled them into a string of low hills.
The instant they entered the ravine, Remo was alert to the men crouching high up on the canyon walls. When he looked, he saw dark figures silhouetted against the white glow of the night sky.
One of the men in the back had seen the natives, as well. Eyes growing wide, he scanned the jagged rock line far above. There were dozens of silent Luzus, washed in the black of night. They traced the path of the speeding truck.
"We got company," the man in back growled, already fumbling over the seat for one of the weapons crates.
It was all he managed to say before the window at his right shoulder shattered in around him and the business end of a hurled spear split his skull just above the ear.
The other man in back screamed.
In the front, the panicked driver spun left and right. "What happened?" he yelled, loosening his grip on the wheel.
The truck immediately pulled wildly to one side, scraping the wall of black stone in a shriek of sparks.
Remo grabbed the wheel, steering them back to the path. "Eyes on the road," he warned, annoyance in his voice as he watched the natives. "I want to get there in one piece."
As soon as he spoke, he detected multiple objects rocketing their way. Too many to avoid.
"Oh, great," Remo managed to grouse just as the windshield shattered at the impact of five hurled spears.
Remo caught the spear that was meant for him by its sharpened nose. A fingernail flick and it clattered harmlessly over into the back. Three more he harvested from the air. Unfortunately for the driver, Remo was too far away to stop the fifth.
The spear pounded the man square in the chest, prying ribs and puncturing lung. Releasing a shocked gasp of air, the driver promptly slumped over the wheel.
The truck was already losing control before yet another spear pierced a front tire. It exploded in a spray of tearing rubber and choking dust. Frayed black sheets flew away in anger as the racing truck dropped and spun.
As the truck whipped sideways, the naked wheel snagged a jagged rock. They went up and over.
In the passenger's side, Remo folded his arms in quiet irritation as the world spun upside down. Bodies and shattered glass whipped about the cab. The big truck rolled wildly, end over end, along the ravine road, roof and doors buckling as momentum propelled it forward.
Only when they finally crashed and rolled to a creaking, grinding stop, did Remo uncross his arms. "Chiun had better not hear about this," he muttered to himself. In response, the last survivor in the rear groaned.
Remo ignored the man.
The truck had landed at an angle on its crushed roof. Through the window slits, Remo saw dozens of bare ankles. His ears detected a chorus of thudding heartbeats. Brushing glass from his chinos, he climbed out into the cloud of softly rising dust.
About two hundred warriors encircled the wreck. At Remo's appearance, spears were raised menacingly. Remo didn't seem concerned with them in the least.
"You're all my witnesses," he said, addressing the multitude. "If anyone asks, I was not driving." He slapped more dust from the knees of his pants.
Behind Remo, the last of the men who had accompanied him from Bachsburg crawled out into the dirt, a British assault rifle clutched in his shaking hands.
"Mooka bastards!" he screamed.
His finger didn't have time to brush the trigger before a single spear struck him in the shoulder. It tore straight through flesh and bone, throwing him backward and pinning him to the crumpled hulk of the truck.
When the man opened his mouth to cry out in pain, another hurled spear flew inside it, snapping his head into the Blazer. His body slumped, held in place by the two spears. The gun slipped from his fingers.
Remo turned from the dead man. "Okay, I'm serious," he said to the Luzu army. "I don't want you telling anyone I did this, 'cause I didn't."
Chiun had been a real pain in the ass about his driving skills lately. On top of everything else, he didn't want to take the blame for this latest wreck. In response to his words, a spear flew his way.
When it was a hair from his eyeball, Remo batted it by the shaft. It clattered harmlessly to the rocky ground.
"Cut it out," he said, peeved. "And since you just killed my guides, I'd appreciate it if you'd take me to wherever Batubizee is."
At the mention of their chief, another dozen angry spears sailed at him. With unseen swatting hands, Remo lrnocked them all away.
"Listen, I hate to play on my celebrity status," Remo said as the last spear fell and the first murmurs of concern began to rise from the ranks of the Luzu, "but I am a Master of Sinanju."
Doubtful expressions blossomed on the faces of the Luzu warriors.
"You lie," one menaced.
Remo bit the inside of his cheek, wondering how to prove his identity to them. "It'd help if I'd brought my Sinanju decoder ring." He frowned, glancing around.
When he saw the machete in the hands of a nearby native, a thought suddenly occurred to him. Reaching over, Remo snagged the weapon. To the crowd, it was as if the blade had appeared in his hand by magic. Spears rose menacingly.
"Don't get your loincloths in a bunch," Remo grumbled.
He didn't raise the weapon against any of the Luzus. Instead, he marched around the sid
e of the overturned truck.
Suspicious eyes tracked him as he went.
A door had been ripped off the Blazer in the crash. The bent shape nestled amid a pile of rocks near the wall of the ravine. Raising the machete, Remo slashed it down against the painted panel of the door. With a few rapid strokes, he etched a trapezoid in the steel. A final, single blow brought a bisecting slash mark through the geometric shape.
"There," Remo announced, turning from the door. "Satisfied?" He tossed the machete back to its owner.
The symbol of the House of Sinanju had the desired effect. Shocked gasps rose from the ranks of the Luzu army.
"Sinanju," a few men hissed, awed. With growing wonder, they looked on the stranger with the milk-white face.
"Told you," Remo said. "Now can we shake a leg?"
The Luzus weren't sure what to do. Although their first impulse was to kill Remo, the symbol of Sinanju was too great a thing to ignore. It was finally decided that they would do as he requested and bring him back to their chief. But given the abilities he displayed, they would treat the intruder with extreme caution.
Shrill whistles called the natives on the hills down into the gorge. They fell in with the rest of the crowd. The entire army began marching through the ravine on foot.
And at the front of the armed horde, prodded with the points of three hundred spears, Remo Williams trudged deeper into Luzuland, a growing scowl on his skull-like face.
Chapter 17
Once fertile land had long since grown arid. In the moonlight were visible the ancient scars of collapsing canals and earthen dams. If water pooled in them at all, it was at another time of year and then purely by accident. Artificial reservoirs that had collected rainwater during the height of the Luzu Empire were now filled with dusty silt and brush.
As the Luzu army led him along a bone-dry canal, Remo took note of the scraggly brown brush growing wild all along its crumbling banks. Beyond the ancient irrigation system, a huge expanse of savannah was charred black-victim of a recent uncontrolled fire sparked by lightning.
Everywhere he looked were remnants of the civilization that had once thrived here.
Arid wells sat in the middle of nowhere. Too perfect tiers on a hillside was proof of steppe farming from another century. As they entered the shantytown that now served as the main Luzu village, Remo saw a huge pile of rocks that had been part of a large stone building. The rock had been cut from an abandoned quarry in the nearby mountains. A sentry had spotted the war party when it was still far off. By the time Remo and his army arrived in the village, the main square was filled with frightened Luzus.
If he hadn't been depressed already before coming to East Africa, the pathetic Kwa-Luzu capital would have sent him into an emotional tailspin.
The sight of so many distended bellies and malnourished faces filled Remo's heart with pity. Skeletal faces watched, eyes too big for shrinking sockets, as he was led through the crowd, past rows of crumbling huts and pathetic tin houses. They steered him to a large home near the stone remains of a dried-up well.
At the sound of his approach, a man who could only have been Chief Batubizee stepped out of the tumbledown house. A robe hung limp from his broad shoulders, and a tarnished crown of gold encircled his balding head. Remo was quick to note that the chief didn't seem to lack for food.
At Batubizee's elbow was the native who had collected Chiun at the airport. When he saw Remo, Bubu's eyes registered surprise.
"Who is this?" Batubizee boomed to the Luzu army, disapproval evident in his loud voice.
"He claims to be of Sinanju," a Luzu warrior offered.
Bubu leaned close to the chief's ear.
"He did arrive in the company of the Master," the young Luzu whispered.
It was Batubizee's turn to look surprised. "You serve the Master of Sinanju?" he demanded of Remo.
It was all Remo could do to hide his contempt. In an entire civilization of hunger and despair, it was apparent that Batubizee alone sat down at a full table every night.
"Feels like that a lot of the time," Remo replied, his eyes flat. "Right now I'm just looking for him." A chilly voice broke in from behind.
"You have found him, ungrateful one."
When Remo turned, he saw Chiun at the edge of the crowd, his wrinkled face cold. The wasted natives shrank from him in fear. Even Batubizee seemed anxious at the sight of the wizened Asian.
"Your servant has arrived, Master of Sinanju," the Luzu chief called.
From a distance, Chiun's narrowed eyes regarded Remo. "He is no servant of mine," the old man replied in loud and ominous tones.
Remo had hoped the tiny Korean hadn't carried back to Luzuland the baggage of their confrontation at the palace. But by the sounds of it, the old man was ready to sic the entire Luzu nation on Remo just to teach his pupil a lesson.
As Chiun stepped forward, the multitude parted. Not a ruffle appeared in the multicolored peacocks that were embroidered on his saffron robe. When he stopped before Remo, his hazel eyes were chips of flinty accusation.
"Could you cut me a break, Little Father?" Remo asked in a hushed tone. "I really need to talk to you."
An eyebrow rose almost imperceptibly. Noting the troubled undertone in his pupil's voice, the Master of Sinanju's mouth thinned. He turned to Batubizee.
"He is much more than a mere servant," Chiun proclaimed. "I introduce to you my son, the current Apprentice and future Reigning Master of the House of Sinanju."
Batubizee shot a glance at Bubu. "He is white," he told Chiun, as if the old man could have somehow missed the fact.
"Only on the outside," Chiun assured him. "His blood is the blood of my ancestors."
"More or less," Remo cut in, irked at the racebaiting.
"Quiet," Chiun snapped in Korean. "Do not embarrass me in front of the Luzu." Whirling to the crowd, he threw his arms up high. Kimono sleeves slipped down, revealing bony arms. "Hear you now, children of Kwaanga! My son in spirit has come to your land to aid us in our fight against the wicked Mandobar!"
If he expected a cheer from the crowd, he never got one. The gathered Luzus regarded him with sickly silence tinged with latent fear.
"That's not exactly why I'm here," Remo suggested.
Before Chiun could caution him once more to still his tongue, Chief Batubizee raised his voice. "Why then have you come here, son of Chiun?" the Luzu chief asked, puzzled.
Remo regarded the bloated ruler with level eyes. "Assuming you're Batubizee, I was sent here to kill you," he said.
Beside him, Chiun's eyes saucered in shock. Bubu jumped protectively in front of the surprised chief. And all around the square, Luzu warriors raised their weapons menacingly.
His face bland, Remo scanned the angry crowd. "Of course, if this is a bad time, I could come back after supper."
TEN MINUTES LATER, Chiun had somehow convinced the entire Luzu nation that Remo was joking and didn't need to be killed. The two Masters of Sinanju had joined Batubizee and Bubu inside the chief's squalid home.
Chiun was thankful that Remo didn't comment on the tattered rug or the ragged silk pillows as the three oldest men sat on the floor. Bubu continued to stand, his gaze glued on Remo. He watched with neither malice nor mistrust. The young native was merely silently alert.
Remo noted an innate stillness to the guard even as Chiun continued to apologize for Remo's words of a few moments before.
"I promise you he meant nothing by it," the Master of Sinanju insisted. "Sometimes he speaks before his thoughts are fully formed."
"I do not understand." Chief Batubizee frowned. "Why would he say such a thing? Is your son an imbecile?"
"Hello? Sitting in the same room." Remo waved, irked.
Chiun ignored him. "No, he is not an imbecile," he said to the chief.
"Yes, you are an imbecile," he said more harshly to Remo in Korean.
"Little Father, I need to-"
Chiun cut him off with a sharply raised hand. "He is too busy attempting
to solve the woes of a cruel and savage world to think clearly," he promised the chief. "But he apologizes if he has insulted you in any way. Is that not right, Remo?"
Remo's face was sour. "Yeah, that's right," he said. "Now can we get outta here?"
A nasty string of rapid-fire Korean and the Master of Sinanju turned once more to Batubizee. "Forgive him his rudeness, sire, for he is afflicted with a curse that forces him to see all of the injustices of the world as his personal responsibility. It has left him callous and rude."
"I'll give you rude, Chiun," Remo snarled in Korean. "You've got a whole tribe of women and children out there with xylophone rib cages and this gaspot's in here squatting on the cooler hogging all the sandwiches and Skittles."
In the center of the room, Batubizee's eyes narrowed at Remo's rough tone. "What did he say?" he asked Chiun.
"He is merely expressing anger at himself for being inadequate to the task of offering a proper apology," the Master of Sinanju insisted. "Isn't that true, Remo?" he said through clenched teeth.
Remo rolled his eyes. "Whatever," he said.
The chief let their words hang in the musty air of his hut for a pregnant moment.
"The men with whom you came here work for Minister Deferens," Batubizee finally said in a cautious tone.
"I know." Remo sighed. "I do, too. Or Deferens thinks I do. Anyway, I only came here with them to find Chiun."
"But they intended to kill me."
Remo nodded. "That was his plan. Don't worry. I wouldn't have let them follow through."
"The chief does not need you to safeguard his life as long as I am here," Chiun sniffed. He was studying Remo's face. "You contracted with someone other than Smith?"
Remo avoided Chiun's penetrating gaze. "Not really," he hedged. "It was just a cover." He was relieved when Batubizee interrupted.
"I am not surprised that Deferens would try to have me killed," the chief intoned, his moon face pulled into a thoughtful frown. "He is an evil man."
"You got that vibe, too?" Remo said, deadpan. "By the sounds of it, he's up to his dimpled chin in this Mandobar thing."
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