Dune (25 page)

Jessica recognized the capsign of Hawat's corps, fought down uneasiness. She addressed herself to the stillsuit manufacturer's feminine companion—a tiny, dark-haired woman with a doll face, a touch of epicanthic fold to the eyes.

“You've hardly touched your dinner, my dear,” Jessica said. “May I order you something?”

The woman looked at the stillsuit manufacturer before answering, then: “I'm not very hungry.”

Abruptly, the Duke stood up beside his trooper, spoke in a harsh tone of command: “Stay seated, everyone. You will have to forgive me, but a matter has arisen that requires my personal attention.” He stepped aside. “Paul, take over as host for me, if you please.”

Paul stood, wanting to ask why his father had to leave, knowing he had to play this with the grand manner. He moved around to his father's chair, sat down in it.

The Duke turned to the alcove where Halleck sat, said: “Gurney, please take Paul's place at table. We mustn't have an odd number here. When the dinner's over, I may want you to bring Paul to the field C.P. Wait for my call.”

Halleck emerged from the alcove in dress uniform, his lumpy ugliness seeming out of place in the glittering finery. He leaned his baliset against the wall, crossed to the chair Paul had occupied, sat down.

“There's no need for alarm,” the Duke said, “but I must ask that no one leave until our house guard says it's safe. You will be perfectly secure as long as you remain here, and we'll have this little trouble cleared up very shortly.”

Paul caught the code words in his father's message—guard—safe—secure-shortly. The problem was security, not violence. He saw that his mother had read the same message. They both relaxed.

The Duke gave a short nod, wheeled and strode through the service door followed by his trooper.

Paul said: “Please go on with your dinner. I believe Doctor Kynes was discussing water.”

“May we discuss it another time?” Kynes asked.”

“By all means,” Paul said.

And Jessica noted with pride her son's dignity, the mature sense of assurance.

The banker picked up his water flagon, gestured with it at Bewt. “None of us here can surpass Master Lingar Bewt in flowery phrases. One might almost assume he aspired to Great House status. Come, Master Bewt, lead us in a toast. Perhaps you've a dollop of wisdom for the boy who must be treated like a man.”

Jessica clenched her right hand into a fist beneath the table. She saw a handsignal pass from Halleck to Idaho, saw the house troopers along the walls move into positions of maximum guard.

Bewt cast a venomous glare at the banker.

Paul glanced at Halleck, took in the defensive positions of his guards, looked at the banker until the man lowered the water flagon. He said: “Once, on Caladan, I saw the body of a drowned fisherman recovered. He—”

“Drowned?” It was the stillsuit manufacturer's daughter.

Paul hesitated, then: “Yes. Immersed in water until dead. Drowned. ”

“What an interesting way to die,” she murmured.

Paul's smile became brittle. He returned his attention to the banker. “The interesting thing about this man was the wounds on his shoulders—made by another fisherman's claw-boots. This fisherman was one of several in a boat—a craft for traveling on water—that foundered . . . sank beneath the water. Another fisherman helping recover the body said he'd seen marks like this man's wounds several times. They meant another drowning fisherman had tried to stand on this poor fellow's shoulders in the attempt to reach up to the surface—to reach air.”

“Why is this interesting?” the banker asked.

“Because of an observation made by my father at the time. He said the drowning man who climbs on your shoulders to save himself is understandable—except when you see it happen in the drawing room.” Paul hesitated just long enough for the banker to see the point coming, then: “And, I should add, except when you see it at the dinner table.”

A sudden stillness enfolded the room.

That was rash,
Jessica thought.
This banker might have enough rank to call my son out.
She saw that Idaho was poised for instant action. The House troopers were alert. Gurney Halleck had his eyes on the men opposite him.

“Ho-ho-ho-o-o-o!” It was the smuggler, Tuek, head thrown back laughing with complete abandon.

Nervous smiles appeared around the table.

Bewt was grinning.

The banker had pushed his chair back, was glaring at Paul.

Kynes said: “One baits an Atreides at his own risk.”

“Is it Atreides custom to insult their guests?” the banker demanded.

Before Paul could answer, Jessica leaned forward, said: “Sir!” And she thought:
We must learn this Harkonnen creature's game. Is he here to try for Paul? Does he have help?

“My son displays a general garment and you claim it's cut to your fit?” Jessica asked. “What a fascinating revelation.” She slid a hand down to her leg to the crysknife she had fastened in a calf-sheath.

The banker turned his glare on Jessica. Eyes shifted away from Paul and she saw him ease himself back from the table, freeing himself for action. He had focused on the code word:
garment. “Prepare for violence.”

Kynes directed a speculative look at Jessica, gave a subtle hand signal to Tuek.

The smuggler lurched to his feet, lifted his flagon. “I'll give you a toast,” he said. “To young Paul Atreides, still a lad by his looks, but a man by his actions.”

Why do they intrude?
Jessica asked herself.

The banker stared now at Kynes, and Jessica saw terror return to the agent's face.

People began responding all around the table.

Where Kynes leads, people follow,
Jessica thought.
He has told us he sides with Paul. What's the secret of his power? It can't be because he's Judge of the Change. That's temporary. And certainly not because he's a civil servant.

She removed her hand from the crysknife hilt, lifted her flagon to Kynes, who responded in kind.

Only Paul and the banker
—
(
Soo-Soo! What an idiotic nickname!
Jessica thought.)—remained empty-handed. The banker's attention stayed fixed on Kynes. Paul stared at his plate.

I was handling it correctly, Paul thought. Why do they interfere?
He glanced covertly at the male guests nearest him. Prepare for violence? From whom? Certainly not from that banker fellow.

Halleck stirred, spoke as though to no one in particular, directing his words over the heads of the guests across from him: “In our society, people shouldn't be quick to take offense. It's frequently suicidal.” He looked at the stillsuit manufacturer's daughter beside him. “Don't you think so, miss?”

“Oh, yes. Yes. Indeed I do,” she said. “There's too much violence. It makes me sick. And lots of times no offense is meant, but people die anyway. It doesn't make sense.”

“Indeed it doesn't,” Halleck said.

Jessica saw the near perfection of the girl's act, realized:
That empty-headed little female is not an empty-headed little female.
She saw then the pattern of the threat and understood that Halleck, too, had detected it. They had planned to lure Paul with sex. Jessica relaxed. Her son had probably been the first to see it—his training hadn't overlooked that obvious gambit.

Kynes spoke to the banker: “Isn't another apology in order?”

The banker turned a sickly grin toward Jessica, said: “My Lady, I fear I've overindulged in your wines. You serve potent drink at table, and I'm not accustomed to it.”

Jessica heard the venom beneath his tone, spoke sweetly: “When strangers meet, great allowance should be made for differences of custom and training.”

“Thank you, my Lady,” he said.

The dark-haired companion of the stillsuit manufacturer leaned toward Jessica, said: “The Duke spoke of our being secure here. I do hope that doesn't mean more fighting.”

She was directed to lead the conversation this way,
Jessica thought.

“Likely this will prove unimportant,” Jessica said. “But there's so much detail requiring the Duke's personal attention in these times. As long as enmity continues between Atreides and Harkonnen we cannot be too careful. The Duke has sworn kanly. He will leave no Harkonnen agent alive on Arrakis, of course.” She glanced at the Guild Bank agent. “And the Conventions, naturally, support him in this.” She shifted her attention to Kynes. “Is this not so, Dr. Kynes?”

“Indeed it is,” Kynes said.

The stillsuit manufacturer pulled his companion gently back. She looked at him, said: “I do believe I'll eat something now. I'd like some of that bird dish you served earlier.”

Jessica signalled a servant, turned to the banker: “And you, sir, were speaking of birds earlier and of their habits. I find so many interesting things about Arrakis. Tell me, where is the spice found? Do the hunters go deep into the desert?”

“Oh, no, my Lady,” he said. “Very little's known of the deep desert. And almost nothing of the southern regions.”

“There's a tale that a great Mother Lode of spice is to be found in the southern reaches,” Kynes said, “but I suspect it was an imaginative invention made solely for purposes of a song. Some daring spice hunters do, on occasion, penetrate into the edge of the central belt, but that's extremely dangerous—navigation is uncertain, storms are frequent. Casualties increase dramatically the farther you operate from Shield Wall bases. It hasn't been found profitable to venture too far south. Perhaps if we had a weather satellite. . . .”

Bewt looked up, spoke around a mouthful of food: “It's said the Fremen travel there, that they go anywhere and have hunted out soaks and sip-wells even in the southern latitudes.”

“Soaks and sip-wells?” Jessica asked.

Kynes spoke quickly: “Wild rumors, my Lady. These are known on other planets, not on Arrakis. A soak is a place where water seeps to the surface or near enough to the surface to be found by digging according to certain signs. A sip-well is a form of soak where a person draws water through a straw . . . so it is said.”

There's deception in his words,
Jessica thought.

Why is he lying?
Paul wondered.

“How very interesting,” Jessica said. And she thought. “
It is said. . . .
”
What a curious speech mannerism they have here. If they only knew what it reveals about their dependence on superstitions.

“I've heard you have a saying,” Paul said, “that polish comes from the cities, wisdom from the desert.”

“There are many sayings on Arrakis,” Kynes said.

Before Jessica could frame a new question, a servant bent over her with a note. She opened it, saw the Duke's handwriting and code signs, scanned it.

“You'll all be delighted to know,” she said, “that our Duke sends his reassurances. The matter which called him away has been settled. The missing carryall has been found. A Harkonnen agent in the crew overpowered the others and flew the machine to a smugglers' base, hoping to sell it there. Both man and machine were turned over to our forces.” She nodded to Tuek.

The smuggler nodded back.

Jessica refolded the note, tucked it into her sleeve.

“I'm glad it didn't come to open battle,” the banker said. “The people have such hopes the Atreides will bring peace and prosperity.”

“Especially prosperity,” Bewt said.

“Shall we have our dessert now?” Jessica asked. “I've had our chef prepare a Caladan sweet: pongi rice in sauce dolsa.”

“It sounds wonderful,” the stillsuit manufacturer said. “Would it be possible to get the recipe?”

“Any recipe you desire,” Jessica said,
registering
the man for later mention to Hawat. The stillsuit manufacturer was a fearful little climber and could be bought.

Small talk resumed around her: “Such a lovely fabric. . . .” “He is having a setting made to match the jewel. . . .” “We might try for a production increase next quarter. . . .”

Jessica stared down at her plate, thinking of the coded part of Leto's message:
The Harkonnens tried to get in a shipment of lasguns. We captured them. This may mean they've succeeded with other shipments. It certainly means they don't place much store in shields. Take appropriate precautions.

Jessica focused her mind on lasguns, wondering. The white-hot beams of disruptive light could cut through any known substance, provided that substance was not shielded. The fact that feedback from a shield would explode both lasgun and shield did not bother the Harkonnens. Why? A lasgun-shield explosion was a dangerous variable, could be more powerful than atomics, could kill only the gunner and his shielded target.

The unknowns here filled her with uneasiness.

Paul said: “I never doubted we'd find the carryall. Once my father moves to solve a problem, he solves it. This is a fact the Harkonnens are beginning to discover.”

 

JESSICA HEARD the disturbance in the great hall, turned on the light beside her bed. The clock there had not been properly adjusted to local time, and she had to subtract twenty-one minutes to determine that it was about 2 A.M.