Warren Murphy: White Water

Remo looked away from the sight of Freya bending Winner's thumb out of joint. Winner howled. His ostrich-skin boot heels were beating the desert floor in agony.

"How'd that happen?"

"I informed Emperor Smith of the fates of the Copt and his fishmongering Canadian confederate. Smith informed the Eagle Throne, and the President shared this with the Lord of Canada. This was sufficient to chill Canadian lusts for war and fish. The seas are quiet once more now that good fishermen are not being hectored into greed."

"Good. I plan on staying here a little while and catching up on my kids."

"And I will dwell on my errors, which have wounded you deeply, my son," Chiun said dispiritedly.

"I buried the past out in the desert, Chiun. It's behind me. Forget about it. I loved Jilda a long time ago, but it wasn't supposed to be. Our lives didn't fit together. That's why she must have taken Freya to Canada. She thought it would be safer there and we'd probably never cross paths."

A warm desert breeze caught the wispy beard at the Master of Sinanju's chin. He nodded. "We will speak of this no more, then," he whispered.

And Remo went off to disentangle his children before one of them got his cocky bones bent into pretzels.