Warren Murphy: The Seventh Stone

The vast emerald-green expanse of Reginald Woburn's back lawn was crowded with the gathered descendants of the Wo clan. Clothed in flowing silk robes, leisure suits, loincloths, they filed past the grave of Ree Wok, their fallen kinsman. He had made the ultimate sacrifice, paid the price that can only be paid once. He had died in battle, the only true way for a Wo warrior to die. In every mind was the thought that there was no greater honor, no greater nobility than that which was now Ree Wok's.

The cool night air was filled with wailing, keening, whispered prayers and warbling chants for the safe swift passage of Ree Wok's departed soul, a symphony of grief played on dozens of different linguistic instruments.

Ree Wok's beautifully appointed satinwood coffin was covered by a thick carpet of flowers, some of species so rare that they had never before been seen in the western hemisphere.

Other descendants of Prince Wo left a variety of objects at the graveside, each a mark of how a great death was honored in their own native culture.

When the last of the mourners had paid their respects and the grave had been filled in, the tall French doors of the mansion parted and Reginald Woburn III emerged atop a sleek black stallion, its head capped by a coronet of three fluttering plumes, its glistening flanks festooned with jewel-encrusted ribbons.

Reggie said nothing. He looked not right or left. All the kinsmen of Prince Wo could see the grave, solemn set of his handsome features and they knew that for this one moment they did not exist for Reginald Woburn III. Each was sure that his grieving was so pure, so intense that his mind held no room for any other thing. In his overwhelming despair, they knew his soul was as one with that of his departed brother, Ree Wok.

It was a beautiful moment, a time, an event that would live in story and song, a treasured memory passed down from one Wo generation to the next.

Reginald Woburn III gigged the jeweled stallion forward. His face solemn, he rode slowly, regally to the graveside.

Overwhelmed by the magnificent sight, the descendants drew a collective breath. They might speak dozens of different tongues, live dozens of different creeds and cultures, but each at last saw Reginald Woburn III as a true prince, the true leader of his flock, heartbroken by the death of one of his own.

Reggie reached the grave site and carefully backed the noble stallion up so that the animal was standing directly over the rectangle of freshly turned earth. Only then did he acknowledge the presence of others. Sitting ramrod straight in the saddle, he turned his head slowly, his clear blue eyes sweeping the crowd.

Then he reached out and slapped the horse's neck.

"Okay, Windy," he yelled. "Do it for Daddy." There was a loud whooshing sound like a balloon bursting as the black stallion broke wind. And then took a long, giant dump atop the grave. The rancorous smell of the manure overpowered the sweet scent of the thousands of flowers and blocked out the delicate smoke of the burning incense. The odor of the horse excrement hung heavy on the cool night air, as thick as the smell of death itself.

"Good boy," Reggie said, clapping the horse's throat. He glared around and said, "That's how we reward failure. What the hell good is trying if you don't succeed? I'm fed up with this family and all its failures and I'm glad this son of a bitch is dead and the next one who fails I may just hang from a tree to rot. Now. Who's going to be next?"

Nobody moved. No one spoke. The silence was so thick it could have been spread on a cracker.

"Well?" Reggie demanded. "Who's next?" After a long minute, there was a stirring in the shadows. A beautiful woman emerged, the reflected moonlight silvering her lustrous black hair.

"I will be next," Kim Kiley said quietly.

Reggie smiled. "Why have you finally deigned to join us?"

"I was researching the subject," Kim responded calmly. "I am ready now."

"How will you kill him?" Reggie demanded.

"Is the white man the important target?" Kim asked coolly.

For a moment Reggie was flustered, then said. "No. Of course not. The Korean is the real goal."

"Correct," she said. "You asked how I will kill the white man," and she shook her head. "Not I alone. That way will lead to only more failure. We will kill him. All of us."

"In what manner?" Reggie said.

"In the manner described by the stone," Kim said with a smile. "And that will bring the old Korean into our grasp too." She paused and stared directly at Reggie, who fidgeted in his saddle. "It was there all the time," Kim said. "You just had to see it. You see, Remo's only weakness is the old man, Chiun, the Korean. And Chiun's loyalty is to Remo. They are two of a kind. They are the plums of the stone."

"But how do we kill them?" Reggie asked.

"The old man is the first plum," Kim said.

"And the way to kill the first plum . . ." She hesitated and smiled. " . . . is with the second plum."

"And how do we kill the second plum?" Reggie asked.

"With the first plum," Kim said softly.

Chapter Fourteen

"There's something outside the door, Chiun," said Remo.

"Of course there is. All through the night, I heard herds of people throwing things against our front door. I didn't sleep for a second," Chiun grumbled.

"It's only an envelope," Remo said. He turned the buff-colored square of paper over and saw his and Chiun's name written on the front in a bold flowing hand with lots of curlicues and swirls.

The note inside carried a lingering trace of familiar perfume.

Dear Remo.

Sorry about the disappearing act yesterday. But the current finally pulled me and the surfboard back to shore and I wanted to get the board back to the rental place before they charged me overtime. Anyway, I know you're a good swimmer so I knew you were safe. But I still feel bad about leaving you without a word, so to make up for it, I'd like to invite you to a party. It's a kind of family reunion that my people are having. It starts at two this afternoon at the Woburn estate on the northern tip of the island. Please bring Chiun along too. I've told everyone so much about you two and the family is very anxious to meet you both. There'll be a special surprise.

Love, Kim

Chiun padded out of the bedroom and saw Remo in the doorway reading the note.

"Are you finished reading my mail?" Chiun asked.

"What makes you think it's for you?"

"Who would write anything to you?" Chiun said. He snatched the note from Remo's hands and read it slowly.

"It's from Kim," Remo said. "An invitation to a party."

"I can see that for myself. I remember you took me to a party once and people kept trying to get me to eat vile things that were piled up on crackers and buy plastic bowls with lids on them. Do you think this will be that kind of a party?"

"I don't think so," Remo said.

"Wait. Hold. A special surprise, she says," said Chiun.

"Right."

"What is that?" Chiun asked.

"I don't know. If I knew, it wouldn't be a surprise," Remo said.

"It's Barbra Streisand," Chiun said. "I know it. This Kim person has been feeling guilty because she has been keeping you away from your training and now she is going to present me with Barbra Streisand to make amends."

"I don't think any party you're likely to go to is going to make you a gift of Barbra Streisand," Remo said.

"We are going," Chiun said with finality. "I will wear my new robes. Do you want one of my old robes to wear?"

"No, thank you."

"What are you going to wear?"

"A black T-shirt and black pants," Remo said. "Casual, yet restrained. A perfect complement for every occasion."

"You have no imagination," Chiun said.

"Yes I do," Remo said. "Today I'm thinking about wearing socks."