Line of Succession td-73

by Warren Murphy

  The villagers came running. Never in the memory of the village of Sinanju had the Gong of Judgment been sounded. Never had there been a crime in the village while a Master was in residence.

  They came, the old and the young, their faces etched in lines of shock, and clustered around the gong.

  "Assemble before me, my people," commanded Chiun. His eyes seemed to fix every face, so that each felt that the Master of Sinanju was probing his own innermost thoughts.

  When the villagers had formed a ragged semicircle before the Master of Sinanju-the adults holding their children before them with hands on their shoulders and the infants slung on their hips-Chiun lifted his voice to the sky.

  "Death has come to Sinanju," he proclaimed.

  The villagers hushed as if the sky were slowly pressing down upon their heads.

  "Mah-Li, the betrothed of Remo, has been murdered." The faces of the villagers took on a stony quality. It was as if they had suddenly become one emotionless, extended family.

  "I seek her murderer among you," Chiun said. Remo came up behind Chiun.

  "I checked every hut," he said quietly. "Empty. They're all here."

  Chiun nodded without taking his eyes off the crowd. "Jilda and the child?" he asked.

  "I put them in the treasure house. I fixed and locked the doors too."

  "Then our murderer is among those assembled. "

  "Maybe," Remo whispered. "How can we tell if he can make himself look like anyone he wants?"

  "Pullyang, step forward," Chiun commanded.

  From out of the crowd, walking like a dog that expected a whipping, came old Pullyang, the caretaker. He stood before Chiun, his legs trembling inside dirty trousers.

  "Were you down at the beach today?" Chiun asked.

  "No, Master," Pullyang quavered.

  "At all?"

  "No, O Master," Pullyang repeated.

  "I saw you at the beach not five minutes ago," insisted Chiun. "I spoke with you, and you with me."

  "I was not there."

  "My son says that you were," Chiun said sternly.

  "That's right, I saw you," agreed Remo.

  Pullyang fell to his knees. "Not I! Not I! I have been with my grandchildren all day," Pullyang cried.

  Chiun looked down upon the pitiful figure, but no pity crossed his wrinkled countenance.

  "If my words are not true," Chiun intoned, "you must call me a liar, and my adopted son a liar too, before the village. Will you do this?"

  "Not I. I cannot call you a liar, but neither would I lie to you."

  "You lied about the purple herons," Chiun said.

  "I saw them!"

  "And I saw you at the shore," said Chiun distantly. "Arise, Pullyang, faithful caretaker, and see to your grandchildren. "

  Remo asked Chiun, "If the murderer is here, he could look like anyone. How are we going to tell him from the others?"

  "We will find a way. This crime will be punished."

  "Just remember," said Remo, "who's going to do the punishing. "

  "We will see. It is against Sinanju law for a Master to harm a villager, no matter the reason."

  "Try to stop me," said Remo, looking at the blank faces watching him fearfully.

  "I may do that," Chiun said softly, stepping around the clot of villagers, his hands clasped behind his back like a general reviewing troops.

  "You, Pak," said Chiun, pointing at a young man. "Name your father."

  "Hui, O Master."

  "Good. Go stand beside the Gong of Judgment. I will ask each of you a question. My question will be easy. Those who answer correctly will stand with Pak. And woe to him whose face is not known to me."

  For an hour the Master of Sinanju inquired of each villager, from the oldest man to the youngest speaking child, a question of family tradition or Sinanju history. All answered correctly. And all went to stand with Pak until the village square was empty of all but the blowing plum-tree leaves.

  "He's not here," said Remo impatiently. "He got away."

  "All my villagers are accounted for," admitted Chiun. "Let's leave them here and search the entire village."

  "Agreed," said Chiun. "But beware, my son. We may be facing sorcery. Our abilities are not always proof against such things. "

  "I don't believe in that crap," said Remo, stalking off.

  Chiun followed him. "You saw that crap with your own eyes, heard the words with your own ears. Was that not Pullyang's voice you heard coming from a mouth that looked like Pullyang's?"

  "It wasn't black magic."

  "What it was we have yet to discover. But it was. You know that as well as I. Come, let us speak with Jilda."

  "Why?"

  "Did you test her to see if she was truly who she seemed?"

  "I know Jilda when I see her."

  "And I have known Pullyang since I was a child. We shall see."

  The door to the House of the Masters was closed, but not locked. Chiun's sharp vision told him that much even from a distance.

  "I thought you locked the door," he said, picking up his pace.

  "I did," Remo replied sullenly.

  "It is not locked now."

  Remo broke into a run. He went through the door like a thunderbolt.

  "Jilda!" Remo's cry was strangled with anguish.

  The Master of Sinanju swept into the throne room, taking in the treasure with a glance. Satisfied that it was undisturbed, he joined Remo in the guestroom. Remo was trying to shake Jilda awake.

  "Remo," she said thickly, stirring from a sitting mat.

  "What happened?" Remo asked.

  Jilda of Lakluun looked around dazedly. Her eyes were a milky, confused gray.

  "I do not recall. Was I asleep?"

  "Yeah," said Remo. "Don't you remember?"

  "I waited here as you bade me to do. Freya wanted to play with the other children. She grew cranky. The last thing I recall is telling her to mind her manners. There my memory stops." As she looked around the room and saw only Remo and Chiun, Jilda's voice shrank. "Freya . . ."

  "Check the other rooms," Remo said.

  The Master of Sinanju disappeared like steam from an open valve. When he returned, his cold expression had melted into the frightened face of a grandparent.

  "Remo! She is gone!"

  Jilda of Lakluun drew her cloak around her as if the room's temperature had dropped. She said nothing, her eyes growing reflective.

  "Come on, Chiun," Remo said. "We're going to find her. "

  "Remo!" Jilda called suddenly. Remo paused at the door. "My Freya is a guest of your village. If anything has happened to her, it will be upon your head."

  Remo said nothing, and then he was gone. Outside, it had grown dark.

  "Something is wrong here," Chiun said ominously. "It should not be dark for two hours yet."

  "Forget the Sinanju almanac," Remo snapped. "We have to find my daughter."

  In the square, the villagers huddled together. They, too, knew that it lacked two hours to sunset, but darkness mantled the little village like a doom.

  "Look!" quavered Pullyang. "See! I did not lie. They are back."

  Remo looked. Down by the shore, two creatures circled on their purplish-pink bat wings, their hatchet faces twitching on gooselike necks.

  "Pterodactyls," Remo breathed. "I was right."

  "I have never seen such things," said Chiun. "But I understand this much. They are circling prey."

  "Oh, no," groaned Remo. He flashed to the rocks that ringed the shore and hit the sand running as the pterodactyls dipped lower, their spiky tails whipping excitedly.

  On the beach, running on tiny legs, was a little girl with blond hair.

  "Freya!" Remo called. "Hang on, babe. I'm coming." The pterodactyls swooped down like blue jays worrying a cat. Freya kept running, her face haunted.

  Remo ran after her, his feet blurring as he concentrated on his breathing. In Sinanju, proper breathing was all. It unlocked the latent powers of the human body. Remo's breathing
flattened as he ran and his feet picked up speed until he was running faster than the pterodactyls could fly:

  Freya's little legs churned. She glanced back in fear just as a rock was coming up in her path.

  Remo yelled, "Watch the rock!" He saw Freya trip. He leapt for her.

  But the pterodactyls were closer. One twisted away and came at Remo, talons grasping. Remo chopped once, but the claw was somehow faster than his lightning reflex. He ducked under a billowing wing and came up behind the ungainly thing. About to launch a kick at the back of its saclike body, Remo suddenly forgot his situation.

  The other pterodactyl landed where Freya had fallen and folded its beating wings in a quick gathering motion. It returned to the sky, its long neck straining. Clutched in its hanging talons, a tiny figure wriggled like a worm.

  "No!" Remo screamed.

  The pterodactyl glided out over the water.

  Remo plunged after it. His feet did not kick up any sand as he ran. And when he hit the water, he did not plunge in, but kept running, his feet moving so fast they did not break through the heaving waves. He was running on top of the waves, his momentum so great that gravity could not pull him down.

  Remo narrowed his focus. Only the pterodactyl existed for him now. The pterodactyl with a little girl in its claws-Remo's daughter. He wasn't going to lose her too. All the awesome power that was Sinanju burned within him, forcing every muscle to function in perfect harmony.

  He was only dimly aware of Chiun's voice behind him. "I am with you, my son."

  Remo didn't answer. He was gaining on the ugly reptile. Its tail lashed tantalizingly within reach.

  "Yes," said Chiun, as if reading Remo's mind. "The tail. If you can snare it, you may bring him down. Do not worry about the child. I will catch her when the devil heron lets go. Or I will plunge into the sea and rescue her. You stop that monstrosity. Trust the Master of Sinanju to preserve the life of your child."

  The tail danced closer. Remo knew he would have only one shot. Once he went for the tail, he would lose the momentum that kept his feet from sinking. One shot. He wasn't going to blow it.

  Remo took his shot. He saw his right hand close over the purple tail. Then the sea rose up to swallow him. Still hanging on, he let himself sink. He'd drag the pterodactyl to the ocean bottom and tear it to pieces. Please, God, he prayed as the cold clutched his muscles, don't let Chiun fail.

  The water was like a wall of ice. It numbed his body. He could not tell whether he still had the tail. His fist felt like a rock. Remo reached out, found his wrist, and reached up toward his clutching hand. No way that thing would shake a two-handed grip.

  But Remo felt nothing. The sea was too dark. He couldn't see if he still had the tail. God, do I have it? I couldn't have missed. Please don't let me have missed.

  And suddenly, as if the sun had been turned on, the sea flooded with light. Remo saw that his fists were clutching seaweed. Frantically he kicked his feet, trying to get back his equilibrium. There was no sign of the pterodactyl.

  The Master of Sinanju, his cheeks puffing air bubbles, swam up and tapped him on the shoulder. He shook his head no.

  Remo kicked free. When he broke the surface, he saw the sun was out again. It was low in the horizon. The skies were clear.

  Chiun's wrinkled face surfaced beside him.

  "She is gone." Remo thought tears streamed down his wrinkled face, but it might have been seawater. "My beautiful granddaughter is gone!"

  "I don't see the pterodactyl. It's got to be down there!" Remo slipped under the surf, Chiun following.

  Grimly they searched, their lungs releasing pent oxygen in infinitesimal amounts. A half-hour passed without their breaking for air. The ocean floor was rocky and forbidding. Few fish swam. And although they scoured the ocean floor for more than a mile around, they found no bodies. Only the green crabs of the West Korea Bay, which had been known to eat the flesh of drowned villagers.

  Fearfully Remo dived into a group of them feeding on the ocean floor, scattering them with his hands. He uncovered a fragment of white meat. A flat silver eye stared at him. A fish.

  When the sun disappeared beneath the waves, they gave up. "I am so sorry, Remo," Chiun said chokingly. "I saw you grasp the tail, and when the bird fell, I reached out for the poor innocent child. I thought I had her. But once underwater, my arms were empty. "

  "I couldn't have missed that tail," Remo said.

  "You did not," Chiun told him.

  "I had the tail and you saw the bird come down. But there's no bird down there."

  "What does it mean?" asked Chiun.

  "Come on," Remo said grimly, settling into the overhand swimming stroke that was favored by Sinanju. He made for the shore.

  Jilda was waiting on the beach. She stood tall and grim, her hands clutching the seams of her cloak. Her womanly face reflected neither grief nor resignation. She was too proud a warrior for either emotion.

  "You failed," she said in an arid voice.

  "You watched us. What did you see?" asked Remo.

  "You fell on the ugly bird. It crashed into the sea. And the two of you come back empty-handed. Could you not have at least returned my child's body to me?"

  "She's not out there," Remo said flatly. And he struck off for the village.

  Jilda spun on Chiun. "What does he mean? I saw-"

  "You saw a darkness fall and lift in an hour's time," said Chiun. "Did you believe that?"

  "I do not know."

  "Distrusting your senses is the first step toward truly seeing," said Chiun, taking Jilda by the arm. "Come."

  "And what should I trust, if not the evidence of my eyes?"

  Chiun nodded in the direction of Remo's purposeful figure.

  "Trust in the father of your child, for he is of Sinanju."

  Chapter 28

  Jilda of Lakluun caught up with Remo. "Tell me," she said.

  "Quiet," snapped Remo as they approached the village proper. "He can hear us."

  Jilda grabbed Remo by the arm. The muscle felt like a warm stone. "I care not about who can hear," she said. "Are you so cold that you do not care about your own child?"

  Remo took Jilda by the shoulders. He put his face close to hers. "The pterodactyls weren't real," he whispered. "I grabbed the tail and ended up with air. There was nothing there."

  "I saw my child fall into the sea."

  "You saw what someone wanted you to see. Someone who is close enough to influence our minds and manipulate the images we all see. And if he's who I think he is, we've got our work cut out for us."

  "You know who it is?"

  "I have an idea," Remo said, looking toward Chiun, who stood with his hands resolutely folded in his kimono sleeves. Chiun nodded.

  "For once, my son has reached a truth before me," he said proudly. And he bowed in Remo's direction.

  "Save the grease," Remo said sharply. "We have things to settle between us, you and I."

  "Tell me one thing," Jilda said anxiously. "Is my daughter dead or alive?"

  "I don't know," Remo admitted. "But forget what we saw at the beach. That wasn't Freya. An illusion can't lift a flesh-and-blood child and carry her out to sea."

  "Illusion?" said Jilda. "You mean it is-"

  "The Dutchman," said Remo. "There's no other explanation. He knew how to unlock the treasure house. Probably learned that from Nuihc, the bastard. He got into Chiun's scrolls, learned about CURE, and used that information to make as much trouble for us as possible. Now he's followed us back to Sinanju to finish the job."

  "I remember him from the Master's Trial," said Jilda. "He is as powerful as you in Sinanju, and his evil mind can make us see any witchery he cares to conjure."

  "He's the reason you fled from me in the first place," Remo said bitterly. "It's because of him you and I couldn't be together. And now he's killed Mah-Li. He's going to pay for that."

  "Remember, Remo," Chiun interjected. "He is like you, a white who is trained in Sinanju. But he is also the Other,
the yin to your yang."

  "And I can't kill him, because if he dies, I die," Remo said grimly. "I haven't forgotten that. But I'll tell you this, Chiun. I may not kill him, but I'm going to bring him right to the damned edge. When I'm done with him, he's never going to kill anyone again. Ever." Remo headed back toward the village.

  A faraway-sounding voice stopped him. "Remo."

  Remo's sensitive hearing fixed on the voice. It was Mah-Li's voice, light and silvery. But the line of rocks from which the voice came was empty.

  "Remo." It was her voice again.

  Remo looked around, and saw her. She was standing beside the house that Remo had started to build a year ago. She wore her high-waisted scarlet bridal costume and she smiled at him warmly, gesturing to the open door of the unfinished house.

  "Come, Remo. Come, it is your wedding night. Don't you want me, Remo?" The voice was Mah-Li's, but the tone mocked him.

  "You son of a bitch," said Remo.

  The Master of Sinanju tried to stop his pupil, but Remo Williams moved too rapidly. Chiun's fingers brushed Remo's bare arm impotently.

  "He is baiting you, Remo," Chiun called. "Do not forget your training. No anger. Anger gives him the edge." Then the music started, the dissonant music that came from the diseased mind of Jeremiah Purcell, who had become known as the Dutchman during his years of solitude on the island of Saint Martin after the death of his trainer, Chiun's evil nephew, Nuihc. The air filled with colors and Remo found himself caught in a psychedelic tunnel of light. There was no road, no sky, and no house with the Dutchman standing there invitingly. It was all bands and swirls of colored light. Remo kept running anyway, but he was stumbling through a world that did not exist except in his own mind. His foot struck something hard-a rock or a tree root-and he went sliding on his chest, dirt spraying into his open mouth.

  Remo shut his eyes. At the end of his slide he got to his feet, spitting to clear his mouth. But even with his eyes closed he saw the colors and heard the music.

  "Eating dirt on the wedding night," said the voice that sounded like Mah-Li. "Is that a new Sinanju custom?"

  "You can't hide behind your illusions forever," Remo warned.

  Abruptly the colors spun into a coalescing dot and exploded like fireworks. The last sparks faded and Remo could see again. Chiun and Jilda were standing not far from him, their eyes blinking stupidly. They, too, had been made to see the colors.