Paul Of Dune Part 8

"But are we going there anyway? You didn't answer my question."

"Honestly, I do not know."

Paul studied each man's reactions and expressions, seeking to learn if they told the truth or not. He concluded that no one knew where Duke Leto was taking them....

At the appointed time his mother Jessica came gracefully down the long promenade staircase into the main foyer, from which she could look down the hill. Her household servants had finished packing her clothes and toiletries, piling packages on a suspensor-flatbed transporter that would take them to the s.p.a.ceport and load them aboard the Duke's frigate.

Gurney came striding up, his clothes sweaty, his patchy blond hair smeared over his head. His grin was wide and infectious. "The Heighliner just arrived in orbit. The Guild gives us four hours to get ourselves securely nestled in a berth."

"Are you packed yet?" Jessica looked harried.

"I carry most of what I need in my body and in my mind. And as long as I have my baliset, all is right with the universe."

"Will you teach me to sing, Gurney?" Paul asked.

"I can teach you the words, young Master, but a melodious voice is a gift from G.o.d. You must develop that yourself."

"He'll do it along with his other studies," Jessica said. "Come, Paul, it's time to go to the s.p.a.ceport. Your father will already be there."

WHITE c.u.mULOUS CLOUDS thickened overhead as afternoon thunderstorms approached. In the village fish market, vendors shouted out lowered prices for the remnants of the morning's catch; anything not sold within the next hour would be sent to processing plants for off-world s.h.i.+pment. Caladan locals wouldn't eat anything more than a day old.

Leto was waiting for them at the s.p.a.ceport. His long dark hair blew in the sea breeze, his aquiline nose lifted as though trying to catch a last sniff of the sea rather than the exhaust vapors from machinery. When he saw Gurney trudging along beside Jessica and Paul with a baliset slung over his shoulder, Leto said, "I'm sorry, Gurney, but there has been a change of plans."

Instantly alert, the loyal retainer frowned. "Has something happened, my Lord?"

"No, and I want to make sure it stays that way. You and Thufir will remain behind to watch over House Atreides while we are gone. This is a more private matter."

Gurney did not show that he was bothered. "As you wish, my Duke. Have you given Thufir any special instructions?"

"He knows what to do - as do you, Gurney."

In private sessions Paul studied politics, psychology, and personal interactions, knowing it would help make him a better ruler someday. Duke Leto Atreides had acknowledged Paul as his natural and legitimate son, even though Jessica was his bound concubine instead of his wife. Nevertheless, there were still dynastic games to be played. The young man knew he might face perils and intrigues that an average boy his age need never imagine. "Without Gurney and Thufir, will we be safe, Father?" he asked before walking up the ramp into the Heighliner.

"Duncan is already aboard. He'll be piloting." It was all Leto needed to say. If Duncan Idaho could not protect Paul, no one could.

Barely able to contain his curiosity, Paul chose a seat by a porthole, through which he watched the other vessels coming and going in the s.p.a.ceport. He felt a thrill when the frigate lifted off the ground. When the cottages of the coastal village were no more than tiny spots on the landscape below, the heavier thrusters activated. Flown expertly by Duncan, the small s.h.i.+p rose high above the white-flecked ocean, through the afternoon thunderclouds, and into the fading darkness of s.p.a.ce.

Overhead, Paul saw the gigantic form of the Guild Heighliner in orbit, a single s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p as large as some asteroids. The Atreides frigate was an insignificant speck inside the vessel that carried many other s.h.i.+ps from numerous planets - more craft than the Cala City s.p.a.ceport would see in a Standard Year. Duncan received instructions to take them to their a.s.signed berth.

Near the bow, Jessica sat primly in a seat. She had told Paul that s.p.a.ce travel did not entirely agree with her, though she had made interplanetary trips before - first from the Bene Gesserit school on Wallach IX to join Duke Leto's household and then to Kaitain during her pregnancy, where she was watched over by the first wife of Emperor Shaddam.

He was surprised by a sudden thought that came into his mind as information clicked together, pieces snapping into place. Lady Anirul... Emperor Shaddam IV... Kaitain.

Anirul, the Emperor's first wife, had died under mysterious circ.u.mstances very near the time of Paul's birth. Since then, Shaddam had taken other wives, though none of those marriages had been successful. In fact, his second, third, and fourth wives were also dead, which seemed rather suspicious to Paul. Now the Emperor was planning yet another wedding, this time to Firenza of House Thorvald.

And Duke Leto was taking his family on a mysterious journey.

"I know where we're going," Paul piped up. "Each House in the Landsraad is sending representatives to Kaitain. We're attending the Emperor's wedding, aren't we?" The event was bound to be spectacular, unlike anything he had ever seen.

Duke Leto's expression darkened, and he shook his head. "No, Paul. Considering what happened to Shaddam's previous marriages, we won't be attending this one." He sounded decidedly cool.

The boy frowned in disappointment. He had used his abilities, asked every question he could think of, and tried to put together the clues, but he didn't have enough information to make another guess.

His mother seemed impatient to learn their destination as well. "I, too, had a.s.sumed we were going to Kaitain, Leto."

With a heavy thump, their frigate settled into place within the designated docking clamp. Paul felt a vibration thrum through the hull. "Won't you tell us where we are going now? We're already aboard the Heighliner."

Leto finally sat back and, glancing at Jessica with what appeared to be a bit of guilt, answered Paul. "We are bound for Ecaz."

The universe is a sea of expectations, and of disappointment.

-EMPEROR PAUL-MUAD'DIB, third address to the Landsraad

"An Imperial wedding must be very exciting, my Lord Baron."

More interested in the nude boy's lovely form than in his attempts at conversation, Vladimir Harkonnen balanced on the suspensor mechanism that held his body upright as he prepared for the week's festivities. The windowplaz tint had been adjusted to permit just the right amount of natural light into the guest suite in the Emperor's extravagant Kaitain palace.

"Ah, nuptials - how could I not be overjoyed?" the Baron answered sarcastically.

He had just sent a manservant running out of the suite to fetch another selection - an adequate adequate selection this time - of garments for that evening's wedding rehearsal dinner. His tailors were continually preparing alternative outfits, but he would have to make his choice soon. So far, the options looked like nomads' tents hanging on his bulk. "I may govern Arrakis, but I can't show up looking like a Fremen!" selection this time - of garments for that evening's wedding rehearsal dinner. His tailors were continually preparing alternative outfits, but he would have to make his choice soon. So far, the options looked like nomads' tents hanging on his bulk. "I may govern Arrakis, but I can't show up looking like a Fremen!"

The boy blinked dark, doelike eyes. "Would you like a ma.s.sage before you dress in those restrictive clothes, my Lord?"

"Why bother to ask? Just do it."

The boy dutifully kneaded fragrant ointments into the Baron's soft shoulders, then continued the intimate ma.s.sage as he had been taught. When he was finished, however, the Baron was left feeling less satisfied than he had antic.i.p.ated. Perhaps it was time to train a replacement.

A CARNIVAL AIR had prevailed on Kaitain for days: jubilant crowds, fireworks displays, and sporting events featuring the best athletes of great and minor Houses. From every building in the enduring Imperial city, scarlet-and-gold Corrino flags fluttered in a warm breeze beneath a cerulean sky. For Shaddam's wedding to Firenza Thorvald, perfect weather was guaranteed by backup satellites and technicians working long s.h.i.+fts.

Throngs had camped out on the route the royal procession would take on the way to the Grand Theater. Everyone wanted the best views of the Padishah Emperor and his bride-to-be. Any moment now, the two royal carriages would approach, each drawn by magnificent golden lions from Harmonthep.

Inside the dining hall for the reception, the Baron observed from a special seat designed to accommodate his bulk. The banquet table seemed as long as a street in Harko City, lined with representatives from practically every n.o.ble holding in the Landsraad. While the Baron couldn't care less about the elaborate spectacle, weddings in general, or Shaddam IV in particular, he was certain that the officious Chamberlain Ridondo and his swarms of functionaries would make careful note of which n.o.ble families declined to attend. The Baron was somewhat surprised, scandalized, and pleased to see empty seats under the House Atreides banner. So, Duke Leto had other priorities.

So do I... I... and yet, I am here. and yet, I am here.

An accented voice interrupted him from his left. "A waste of time, eh? This new one doesn't know what she's getting into. She'll end up dead like the previous wives."

Startled, the Baron turned to see a large, angular man settle into a reserved highback chair. He had heavy brows over intense, pale blue eyes, and a rough-edged appearance despite his fine clothes. A horsehead emblem adorned the lapel of his white-and-blue jacket, a stylized depiction that showed sharp spines projecting from the horse's majestic head. The Baron remained cool, uninterested in small talk. "I don't believe we've met."

"Nevertheless, we should know each other, Vladimir. I am the Viscount Hundro Moritani from Grumman."

The Baron did not like such casual familiarity. "I'm aware of your history, sir. You're a nasty piece of business, aren't you? The war with Ecaz, the attack on House Ginaz, the destruction of the Swordmaster school. Is the Imperial censure still in force against you, or has that been rescinded?"

Surprisingly, the Viscount let out a throaty, abrasive chuckle. "I am pleased you have taken an interest in my activities. I do what is necessary to protect my House and my holdings."

Impatient to eat, the Baron raised a ring-laden hand to signal a servant to bring a plate of hors d'oeuvres. Even with the regularly s.p.a.ced poison snoopers hanging over the table, he produced his own device from a pocket and wafted it over the varied morsels before tasting anything. "It was interesting to observe how hard you could push before the Emperor stopped you," he said.

Moritani watched him intently. "And what have you concluded?"

The Baron began popping little sandwiches into his mouth, savoring the variety of flavors, the exotic seasonings. "I learned that while the Emperor made a great show of criticizing your actions, he did not inflict any lasting harm on House Moritani. Therefore, you achieved most of your aims, and paid a very small price."

The Viscount grumbled, and the Baron could sense the hair-trigger of anger seething there. "I did not accomplish enough. Archduke Ecaz remains alive and now denies me access to a rare medicine that would cure my son."

Awkwardly, the Baron ate another tiny sandwich. He had no interest in House Moritani's personal feuds or family troubles. House Harkonnen had feuds of its own.

Moritani motioned to his bodyguard, a redheaded man who stood nearby. Tall and well-proportioned, the pale-skinned retainer was younger than his master; one of his ears was half missing and scarred over. "Baron, this is my personal Swordmaster, Hiih Resser."

The Baron took greater interest now. "Few Houses have a dedicated Swordmaster these days."

Moritani's lips curled upward in a cruel smile. "Because the Ginaz School is not training any more of them."

"House Atreides still has Duncan Idaho," Resser pointed out. "I knew him on Ginaz."

"I have no interest in House Atreides!" the Viscount raised his voice, quick to anger. "It is time to fetch Wolfram. The banquet is about to begin, but he will need to retire early. See to it that he doesn't overexert himself." Resser bowed and left.

The chairs began to fill, and the noise level increased. At the head table, Shaddam Corrino and Count Hasimir Fenring took seats, followed by the Emperor's bride-to-be and Lady Margot Fenring.

"I'd say the Count got the better of those two women," Moritani said in a low tone, admiring Lady Margot.

Seeing the Princess Firenza for the first time, the Baron was struck by how plain and pear-shaped she was, with a loose chin and too much makeup, apparently to cover flaws on her skin. "She looks like a peasant."

"Good wide hips, though," the Viscount said. "Maybe she'll be the one to bear him the sons he wants."

"Even if she does, she is too ugly. He won't keep her long." The Baron was beginning to enjoy his candid conversation with this gruff man. "And yet we all come here to smile and celebrate. I, for one, find these dinners and parties to be quite tedious, with very little benefit. Doesn't anyone realize we are busy men?"

"Our attendance offers us an excuse to conduct other business, Vladimir." Then, visibly brightening, Viscount Moritani looked toward the main entrance doors, through which Hiih Resser escorted a sickly looking boy into the dining hall. Wolfram was around ten or eleven, with facial features that closely resembled those of his father. The boy appeared disoriented, drugged.

"You say he is ill? Not contagious, I hope?" The Baron had his own diseases to deal with.

"The boy is afflicted with a rare disorder that causes him to waste away. His mother suffered from it, too. Dear sweet Cilia. She lasted a year after Wolfram's birth, but the effort of delivering him took its physical toll." A wave of sorrow crossed Hundro Moritani's face; his emotions seemed as mercurial as the weather patterns on Arrakis. Resser led the groggy boy to the table and positioned him in a seat beside the Viscount. Moritani warmly patted his son's pale hand before turning back to the Baron.

"Wolfram finds solace in semuta. Only the deep trance and the music give him relief from the terrible pain. It's all I can do to help him. There is a cure, of course - esoit-poay, the Ecazis call it." His voice took on a razor sharpness. "In the embargo signed by the Archduke, he explicitly forbids any drop of that drug to leave Ecaz, although very few people in the whole Imperium require it." His fist clenched hard enough to bend silverware. "He does it only to gain vengeance on me."

Well, you did carpet bomb his government center and kill his oldest daughter and his brother, if I remember correctly. But instead of voicing his thought, the Baron said, "An unfortunate situation. Can you not purchase the drug on the black market?" But instead of voicing his thought, the Baron said, "An unfortunate situation. Can you not purchase the drug on the black market?"

"Not a microgram. Even semuta has been restricted so that I must pay exorbitant prices. The Archduke knows what I need and attempts to thwart me at every turn! Out of sheer spite!" A wave of anger reddened his features again, but the man's volatile emotions quickly s.h.i.+fted to an expression of loving calm. "I'm left with no choice. d.a.m.n them, I have to give my son whatever he needs to ease the terrible pain."

The Baron sensed that the Grumman leader wanted to suggest some sort of bargain with House Harkonnen. Smelling a chance to make a profit if he was careful, the Baron said, "I have certain channels of my own to obtain black-market drugs, Viscount, but House Ecaz is no friend of mine, either. The Archduke is closely allied with House Atreides."

As Moritani helped his dazed son eat one of the small appetizers, his eyes shone brighter, as if a fire had been lit behind the pupils. "Have you noticed that neither Duke Leto Atreides nor Archduke Armand Ecaz are in attendance here? My spies tell me that Leto has gone to Ecaz for a secret meeting. They are undoubtedly plotting against both of us."

"Many n.o.bles are not in attendance," the Baron pointed out. "I am not the only one weary of all the weddings. One Imperial nuptial is much like another."

"But this one, Baron, gives me the opportunity to invite you you to Grumman as my honored guest. We have much in common. Perhaps we can help each other achieve our aims." to Grumman as my honored guest. We have much in common. Perhaps we can help each other achieve our aims."

Wary but curious, the Baron studied the other man. "There may well be opportunities to explore. Yes, a visit to Grumman might be interesting and mutually beneficial. My people will make the arrangements."

House Moritani of Grumman was censured after the disgraceful attack on the Ginaz Swordmaster school. As the aggressor, Viscount Moritani paid substantial reparations, but in the way of backroom politics, Emperor Shaddam dismissed the matter as a minor event. Nonetheless, the damage was done. Although structures could be rebuilt, new instructors recruited, and training centers reopened, one thing was irreparable: The Swordmasters, those feared warriors, had been beaten. Such a thing could never be erased.

-CHOAM economic a.n.a.lysis, The Fall of House Ginaz

Once the Atreides frigate was released from the Guilds.h.i.+p's hold, Duncan Idaho piloted it toward mottled Ecaz. The sky was full of clouds, the major landma.s.ses a riot of different shades of green. Paul could see numerous oceans below, but none so vast as the seas of Caladan.

Ever since Duke Leto had explained their destination, Paul had detected an inexplicable chill between his parents. Duncan had offered no insights either. "It is not my business, young Master. And if it were yours, your father would tell you."

So, the boy had occupied himself during the brief journey by studying the frigate's limited library of filmbooks, eager to learn about Ecaz - a lush and fertile world filled with jungles, rainforests, and well-watered agricultural plains. The primary exports were hardwoods and exotic forest products, as well as unusual unguents, rare drugs, deadly poisons.

"Will we visit the fogtree forests?" Paul asked. He had seen spectacular images, and also read that a blight had wiped out most of the delicate and expensive fogtrees on the continent of Elacca, which was governed by Duke Prad Vidal.

"No," Leto answered. "Archduke Ecaz is waiting for us. Our business is with him alone."

"Does he know that I accompany you?" Paul heard the faint bitterness in Jessica's words.

"You are my bound concubine, the mother of my son. You must go with me."

In his reading, Paul had taken particular note of his father's connection to Archduke Armand and the vicious feud between House Moritani and House Ecaz. He was most surprised to learn that his father had been betrothed to the Archduke's eldest daughter, Sanya - until she and her uncle had been murdered by Moritani soldiers.

Duncan guided the Atreides frigate toward a small, ornate city whose centerpiece was a large structure composed of graceful loops and arches, walkways that connected towers, and thick old trees that grew up beside the walls. The palace was a fairy tale synthesis of branches, vines, and ferns intertwined with pearlescent white stone. Paul doubted even Kaitain could have been more impressive than this.

Before they could land, however, two heavily armed wars.h.i.+ps raced into the air, circled the Ecazi Palace, and crossed in front of the Atreides frigate in a clear show of force. Incensed, Duncan activated the communication controls. "This is Swordmaster Duncan Idaho of House Atreides. We are here at the invitation of Archduke Ecaz. Explain your actions."

The two military s.h.i.+ps peeled away, spun and darted playfully in the air, then streaked beneath the frigate. Paul was reminded of frolicking dolphins in the Caladan oceans. A booming voice came over the comline speakers. "You use that t.i.tle with great pride, Swordmaster Idaho - you must have had excellent instructors."

A thin, nasal voice joined the communication. "Are we allowed to strip him of the t.i.tle if he doesn't impress us enough, Rivvy?"

Duncan recognized the voices. "Swordmaster Whitmore Bludd? And Rivvy Dinari?"

The two men chuckled over the speaker. "We came to escort you. We weren't sure if your pilot was proficient enough to land in the proper place."

Paul knew the names; Duncan had often talked about his instructors from Ginaz. Duncan's face showed great pleasure as he explained to Paul, "They must have become ronin since the Ginaz School disbanded. I wouldn't have guessed that Archduke Ecaz needed both of them."

"House Moritani has made no recent aggressive moves," Leto said, "but that could change on a moment's notice. I do not believe the conflict was ever resolved to the satisfaction of either party."

"Feuds usually aren't, my Lord," Duncan said.

When the three s.h.i.+ps had landed in an oval, paved clearing surrounded by tall, feathery trees, the two Swordmasters emerged to greet them. Whitmore Bludd had long wavy hair that was a mixture of silver and gold, a thin face, and rosebud lips that seemed to be pouting. Rivvy Dinari was an enormous globe of a man, who nevertheless seemed light on his feet; his skin was florid in the jungle heat.