Dark Ages

Smith knew what he was doing. Casting doubt on Chiun’s effectiveness risked insulting the old Master, but it might breach his stubborn mind-set. “You are surely unique, Master Chiun,” Smith said almost casually. “You’re too special for most of the world. How can lesser men of any nation help but notice a personage such as yourself?”

Smith folded his hands and tried to remain neutral, inside and out. Had he laid it on thick enough? Had he laid it on too thick?.

Chiun said just one word. “Unique.”

“Yes.”

“If I dressed in the styles of the teeming rabble, then I would not be subject to such insults?”

“I meant no insult.”

“A Western double-breasted suit of machine-woven wool is common. Would this suffice?”

“Certainly.”

“Golf shirts and pleated trousers and loafers of leather. This is the garment of the casual business. Is this common enough?”

“That would be perfectly accept—”

“Shirts of the Hawaiian islanders are today often seen in any airport in the world, worn by all races of people who are not Hawaiian. Is such a garment common enough that it would pass muster? I use this only as an example.”

Smith was trying to figure out where this was headed. “Hawaiian shirts are acceptably common.”

“Perspiration garments?”

“Sweatshirts would be fine.”

“Denim slacks? Even those that are obscenely lowcut in the front?”

Smith could see Remo biting his lips to keep them closed. “Jeans are common garments, of course.”

“Turtleneck sweaters?” Chiun looked at Smith sharply. “What of them?”

Smith’s mind was racing. Was Chiun about to trip him up? Why was the old Master talking about turtleneck sweaters, of all things? Mark Howard saw Smith’s trepidation and came to the rescue.

“I’m not sure if they are in style,” Howard pointed out. “I get this men’s lifestyles magazine. I’m no fashion buff, you know, but I think it said turtlenecks are out.”

“And yet, they are always about,” Chiun said. “Such is the ignorance of the world that does buff fashionably. They rediscover the cut of dress that was discarded only five years before. There are always those who adjust too slowly, and thus, one sees them as commonplace at all times.”

Smith said somberly, “Master Chiun, I would have no objections to you wearing turtleneck sweaters, regardless of the current fashion.”

“Pah! They are hideous!”

Smith gave a rehearsed, helpless-looking gesture. “There must be some middle ground that we can reach.”

Chiun rested a baleful glare on the window behind Smith. “I shall carefully consider what we have discussed today, Emperor.”

Chiun folded his hands and adopted a pleasant expression that said he was waiting for the next topic of conversation. As if prompted by the old Master, Smith and Howard were both alerted by small sounds from their computers and began concentrating intensely on the displays.

“Well, I can see you’re busy guys,” Remo said. Watching Cybernerd Senior and his young intern play with their computers was almost as bad as trying to work a computer himself. “We’ll be going.”

Smith didn’t look up. “To Ayounde.”

“What’s Ayounde?”

“Please hurry. We just might have time to avert another crisis.”

“In Ayounde?” Remo asked, as he was heading for the door.

“Come, simpleton!” Chiun held Remo’s elbow suddenly, and Remo yelped.

Chapter 8

When they were on the Africa-bound airplane, Remo received a brief lecture on Ayounde. He wasn’t listening. He was still sore at the old Master.

“Master Chan-Su Horn worked for the sultans of Ayounde on three occasions,” Chiun said. “This is something you should know.”

“I know about Master Chan-Su Horn. I’ve read everything in the scrolls about him,” Remo said. “I don’t remember any mention of him working for Ayounde. I remember him working for the Sultanate of Bueni in the armpit of Africa.”

“Bueni was its name once.”

Remo thought he’d made a pretty incisive connection, but Chiun dismissed it without further comment. That made Remo more sore.

“The sultans in those days used gold with extravagance in their own homes but not for purchasing their own security,” Chiun said. “Chan-Su Horn describes a palace with gold-gilt chairs, gold eating utensils and gold oil lanterns. But when the sultan hired Master Horn, he wanted to bargain in the basement. He paid Master Horn for the assassination of just one man, when he knew that three men plotted against him.”

Chiun looked purposefully at Remo. Remo was listening. They were in an aircraft for the next eight hours and it wasn’t as if he had anywhere else to go. He might as well show interest, although he knew the history of Master Chan-Su Horn.