Chiun continued. “The man that Master Horn assassinated for the sultan was the sultan’s own brother, who plotted fiercely to overthrow him and take his riches and wives. His companions in the plot were two of the sultan’s uncles. Of course, the two uncles continued their plot once the brother was dead. So Master Horn was again hired by the sultan, but for the assassination of just one of the uncles. The sultan’s desire to hold on to his gold was so strong that he could not bear to spend more than was necessary—and not even that.”
“But he had to eventually,” Remo said. “Didn’t Master Horn go back again?”
Chiun’s nodded. “The sultan perceived his folly early enough. He again summoned Master Horn. Horn had been expecting more employment in the sultanate, by the sultan or his usurper, and was quick to respond. The sultan was not pleased when Chan-Su Horn announced his fee was increased.”
“A little told-you-so toll?” Remo asked.
“An inconvenience premium. So Chan-Su Horn came and left three times when he could have easily performed all three assassinations on his first visit.”
“But it wasn’t inconvenient. You just told me Master Su Horn was in the vicinity.”
“But the sultan was not told that.”
Remo considered it. “The way we get shuttled all over the planet doing Smith’s tricks, we should get all kinds of inconvenience fees.”
“It was the beginning of the end for the sultanate. Its power decreased. The sultans of Ayounde never learned the lesson of gold. Gold is not for gilding chairs. It is for increasing one’s power.”
“We have gilt chairs,” Remo said, picturing at least one ornate golden throne in the house in the Village of Sinanju, which was the ancestral home of the Masters in what was now North Korea. It was Remo’s house now, according to tradition. “I mean, I have a gilt chair.”
“How is your elbow?” Chiun asked.
Remo scowled. “Still hurts. What did you do that for, Chiun?”
But Chiun said nothing, his eyes fixed out the window of the aircraft, where the wing flexed in the rush of air. Chiun didn’t trust aircraft wings. Aircraft wings, he knew, could come off at any moment.
Ayounde’s royal family lost control of the nation and the palace was sacked, although the dynasty continued as just one of many warlord territories. The former ruling family fought the slave traders and the pirates of the eighteenth century. They also fought the Europeans who wanted to help protect them from the pirates and slave traders—and from their own paganism. The warlords were demolished and scattered, and Ayounde was colonized. Half the country became a British protectorate in 1888, and the family that ruled the nation was related distantly to the sultan’s lineage of previous centuries. The other half of the nation became a French territory. The French claimed they had purchased their joint of land legally from a former warlord who was its rightful proprietor. The British weren’t willing to fight the French over the claim. Ayounde wasn’t worth much to either of them.
It wasn’t until 1964 that the British finally granted British Ayounde her independence. The French followed suit, and the nation of Ayounde became reunited and independent. New oil reserves were discovered in Ayounde in the late 1960s, and the government was stable enough to make use of the resource. The country prospered, instituted a gradual process of democratization and became one of the most livable nations in Africa— which wasn’t known for having livable nations. This annoyed the British, who remembered that Ayounde had been theirs. The oil profits should be going to Britain. By rights. But there was nothing to be done about it now.
Until Sir Michele Rilli got a call to perform his duty as a member of an Order of the Green Garter of England.
The cargo ship
“So wonderful to meet with you, Sir Rilli!” He pumped Rilli’s hand energetically. “I have watched your performances time and again on the television.”
“Yes, I’m sure you have.”
“The Monaco GP last year was a real nail-biter, sir! But we knew you would be victorious in the end. My good woman and I, we knew you would win even if all our friends and neighbors hooted and rooted for the Cobbler driver.”
Sir Michele Rilli bristled at the mention of Kenneth Cobbler. Cobbler had been nipping at Rilli’s heels throughout the entire racing season last year. The Australian Grand Prix. The Malaysian Grand Prix. Race after race, Rilli won by the skin of his teeth, Cobbler sticking like glue to his derriere.
Then, a disaster in Spain. A bent rim. A two-minute setback to change the tire. Cobbler used it to his advantage to pass Michele Rilli on the final lap and take the checkered flag.
