But before the minister and alchemist could seize the crown, Master Go went to the king and told him of the plan. The alchemist fled with only a small portion of the gold and his secret. In gratitude, the king paid Go with some of the gold made by the evil alchemist.
But Master Go refused it.
"Your Majesty, this gold may be good for you, but for us it is cursed. I have seen the ingredients used, and in them is something that makes a fully trained body nauseous in its most essential humors."
"Do you mean, great Master of Sinanju who has saved the crown of Aragon and Asturias, who has brought the wisdom of your magnificence here before us, that this gold is not good?"
"No, your Majesty. The gold is good because it can buy things, it can coat things, it can be used for ornament and tool, but for us, it is cursed."
And the king gave Master Go good gold, none of it marked with the curse of the evil alchemist, the stamp of the apothecary jar.
This then, centuries later, was noticed by Master Chiun but ignored by the impetuous, disrespectful Remo. And thus did the stubborn Remo bring harm to his body because he heeded the influence of bad white habits instead of the glory of Sinanju.
"You added to an old legend, little father," said Remo. By the time Chiun had finished repeating the tale he was sitting up. He felt as though the retelling had put carbonated water in his bloodstream. "I thought the legends were eternal. You can't rewrite them."
"I added nothing to history but history. Didn't you feel anything when you held the pendant close to you?"
"I was angry at being bugged."
"Any silliness like anger diminishes the senses. Lust diminishes the senses. Greed diminishes the senses. The stronger the emotion, the less we perceive," said Chiun.
"You get angry. You get angry all the time."
"I never get angry," said Chiun. "And to be accused of such makes my blood boil."
"When will I get better?"
"You'll never get better. You're an evil child, Remo. I've got to face that."
"I mean physically. When will I recover from this thing that hit me?"
"Your body will tell you."
"You're right," said Remo. "I should have known." He finished the water, easing himself out of the bed. It felt good to move again, although he had to think about every step.
"What was in that stuff the alchemist used? How did Master Go know there was poison in it?"
"Doesn't your body know poison? Did you have to wear a badge like the others at the manufacturing plant in McKeesport? Do you have to see whether it changes colors to know if you are receiving harmful essences through the air?"
"Radiation. Uranium. He made the gold with uranium. Do you think the uranium being stolen now is going not to make bombs but to make gold? Do you think someone has rediscovered that old formula?"
"No," said Chiun.
"Why not?" asked Remo.
"Because I don't think about things that are so trivial. Remo, I have saved your life again. Not that I am bringing it up. But I have. And for what? For you to care about these foolish things? Are we guards of metals? Are we mere slaves? What have I given you Sinanju for but to enhance your glory and that of the House of Sinanju, and here we are with puzzles. Do I think this? Do I think that? I will tell you what I think. I think we should leave mad Emperor Smith, who will never seize the throne. We should serve a real king."
Remo made his way to the bathroom and washed his face. He had heard this a lot. He would hear it more often now that he had almost gotten himself killed.
The phone rang. Chiun answered it. Remo could tell it was Smith. There were the flowery protestations of loyalty, the grandiose exaltations of Smith's wisdom, and then the hanging-up with a flourish of the hand, like a rose being brought ceremonially to its rest in a gilded vase. But this time, Chiun had said something strange.
"We shall hang their heads from the Folcroft walls, and speak their pain as your glory forever," Chiun had said to Smith.
"What's happening, little father?" asked Remo.
"Nothing," said Chiun. "Don't forget to wash your nostrils. You breathe through them."
"I always wash my nostrils. Who are the people we're supposed to do in?"
"Nobody."
"But you said we'd hang heads on walls. Whose heads?"
"I don't know what Smith talks about. He's mad."
"Who?"
"No one. Some people who have surrounded the fortress he calls a sanitarium. Now don't forget your nostrils. "
"They have Folcroft surrounded? The whole thing can go under."
"There are other lunatics if you prefer."
femo moved to the phone. His legs were not quite working right and he had to force them ahead in a crude sort of walk, something he had not done since before training. He got the motel switchboard and had them place a call. He didn't know if the security codes would work on this open line, but if they took Smith and Folcroft, everything else was over anyway.
Smith answered right away. "Open line," said Remo.
"Doesn't matter. They're closing in."
"How much time?"
"Don't know. They're holding off until they can make sure I won't be able to get out. I am going to have to go into a destruct as soon as that happens, you know. In that case we won't be seeing each other, and you can terminate your service."
"Don't give up yet, Smitty. Don't take that pill I know you have with you."
"I'll have to. I can't be taken. The whole country will be compromised."
"Just hold on. I'm coming up. There's a small airport in Rye, isn't there?"
"Yes. Right near here."
"Use those magnificent computers and get me clearance on some plane that will get me up there fast. Hold on. I'm coming."
"How are you? I thought you were dead."
"Get me the plane," said Remo. He only had to wait thirty seconds before Smith had gotten him a clearance on a private government jet out of Dulles Airport.