Warren Murphy: The Eleventh Hour

Chiun joined him silently. He no longer wore the black robes of death but a canary-yellow day kimono. Chiun noticed Remo's exposed neck and touched it with his long-nailed fingers.

"I see the blue has faded from your throat," he said.

"Huh? Oh, right. You know, when I was in the Kremlin looking for you, the voice spoke through me again. But I was still myself. I wonder what that means."

"It means the same thing as the blue fading from your throat," Chiun said.

"Which is?"

"Which is that Shiva's hold on you has weakened. It was as I thought. If you came here and became one with the village, you would be strengthened in your Sinanju-ness and you would be able to overcome the call of Shiva. As usual, I was right. You are Sinanju, Remo."

"Shiva," Remo said slowly. "This whole thing started back in that burning house in Detroit, didn't it?"

"What whole thing?" Chiun asked innocently. "When I blacked out and became Shiva. I still don't remember any of it, but it shook you. You were afraid Shiva'd snatch me up and I'd run off and leave you without an heir. Wait a minute. . . ."

"Yes?" Chiun said blandly, watching Smith's raft move out to the waiting submarine.

"Did you by any remote chance fake this whole dying-Master routine just to get me back here?" Remo said.

"Stop babbling, Remo. This is a momentous occasion. We are at last free of Mad Harold."

"I'm not so sure I want to be. And stop trying to change the subject. What was it? I know. You thought if you got me here and got me all tied up in this village, somehow that'd keep me here, away from Shiva."

"That is ridiculous," Chiun scoffed. "What happens to you is of very little importance to me."

"Yeah," Remo continued. "You faked it all. Sinanju breathing techniques to lower your heart rate and blood pressure. The rest was just playacting. You know all about that from the soap operas you always watch."

"Nonsense," Chiun bristled. "The truth is that you are so inept and so ugly that the villagers will not accept you as the next Master. Because of your whiteness, you pale piece of pig's ear, I cannot even die in peace."

"You're a fraud, Chiun. It was all an act, all designed to get me back here, all designed to make me so much Sinanju that even Shiva couldn't pull me away."

"There are worse things," Chiun said. He pointed toward the shore road. Remo saw Mah-Li and when she saw him, she began running. Her face, no longer veiled, radiated joy.

"I think I'm going to marry her," said Remo. "Dowry or not."

"She is ugly, like you, but she does have a kind heart," Chiun allowed. "Have I mentioned that since Smith has broken our contract, his last shipment of gold is refundable in full? I forgot to mention this to him earlier and it is too late to return it to him now. The histories do not cover this situation. I am uncertain what I should do."

"You'll figure-out something," Remo said.

Chiun snapped his fingers. "Of course. I do not wish to throw perfectly good gold into the sea just because it is not rightfully mine. So I will donate it as Mah-Li's dowry. But say nothing of this to the other villagers. They will all want to borrow some and the treasure of Sinanju is not a bank."

He pointed to the approaching woman. "Go to her," Chiun said. "As father of the bridegroom, I must attend to the wedding arrangements."

Remo faced the Master of Sinanju and bowed deeply.

"You are an unregenerate old fraud who will never die," he said solemnly.

"And you are the next Master of Sinanju in whose hands I will someday place my village and my good name," Chiun replied, bowing so Remo could not see the pleased smile light his wrinkled face.

Then Remo ran down the shore road to embrace his bride-to-be, and a new dawn broke over the black rocks of Sinanju, brighter than any the little village had ever seen before.