Dune (24 page)

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 signaled 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.”

He’s boasting, Jessica thought. He shouldn’t boast. No person who’ll be
sleeping far below ground level this night as a precaution against lasguns has
the right to boast.

= = = = = =

“There is no escape–we pay for the violence of our ancestors. ”
-from “The Collected Sayings of Muad’Dib” by the Princess Irulan

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.

The disturbance was loud and incoherent.

Is this the Harkonnen attack? she wondered.

She slipped out of bed, checked the screen monitors to see where her family
was. The screen showed Paul asleep in the deep cellar room they’d hastily
converted to a bedroom for him. The noise obviously wasn’t penetrating to his
quarters. There was no one in the Duke’s room, his bed was unrumpled. Was he
still at the field C.P.?

There were no screens yet to the front of the house.

Jessica stood in the middle of her room, listening.

There was one shouting, incoherent voice. She heard someone call for Dr.
Yueh. Jessica found a robe, pulled it over her shoulders, pushed her feet into
slippers, strapped the crysknife to her leg.

Again, a voice called out for Yueh.

Jessica belted the robe around her, stepped into the hallway. Then the
thought struck her: What if Leto’s hurt?

The hall seemed to stretch out forever under her running feet. She turned
through the arch at the end, dashed past the dining hall and down the passage to
the Great Hall, finding the place brightly lighted, all the wall suspensors
glowing at maximum.

To her right near the front entry, she saw two house guards holding Duncan
Idaho between them. His head lolled forward, and there was an abrupt, panting
silence to the scene.

One of the house guards spoke accusingly to Idaho: “You see what you did?
You woke the Lady Jessica.”

The great draperies billowed behind the men, showing that the front door
remained open. There was no sign of the Duke or Yueh. Mapes stood to one side
staring coldly at Idaho. She wore a long brown robe with serpentine design at
the hem. Her feet were pushed into unlaced desert boots.

“So I woke the Lady Jessica,” Idaho muttered. He lifted his face toward the
ceiling, bellowed: “My sword was firs’ blooded on Grumman!”

Great Mother! He’s drunk! Jessica thought.

Idaho’s dark, round face was drawn into a frown. His hair, curling like the
fur of a black goat, was plastered with dirt. A jagged rent in his tunic exposed
an expanse of the dress shirt he had worn at the dinner party earlier.

Jessica crossed to him.
One of the guards nodded to her without releasing his hold on Idaho. “We
didn’t know what to do with him, my Lady. He was creating a disturbance out
front, refusing to come inside. We were afraid locals might come along and see
him. That wouldn’t do at all. Give us a bad name here.”

“Where has he been?” Jessica asked.

“He escorted one of the young ladies home from the dinner, my Lady. Hawat’s
orders.”

“Which young lady?”

“One of the escort wenches. You understand, my Lady?” He glanced at Mapes,
lowered his voice. “They’re always calling on Idaho for special surveillance of
the ladies.”

And Jessica thought: So they are. But why is he drunk?

She frowned, turned to Mapes. “Mapes, bring a stimulant. I’d suggest
caffeine. Perhaps there’s some of the spice coffee left.”

Mapes shrugged, headed for the kitchen. Her unlaced desert boots slap-
slapped against the stone floor.

Idaho swung his unsteady head around to peer at an angle toward Jessica.
“Killed more’n three hunner’ men f’r the Duke,” he muttered. “Whadduh wanna know
is why’m mere? Can’t live unner th’ groun’ here. Can’t live onna groun’ here.
Wha’ kinna place is ‘iss, huh?”

A sound from the side hall entry caught Jessica’s attention. She turned, saw
Yueh crossing to them, his medical kit swinging in his left hand. He was fully
dressed, looked pale, exhausted. The diamond tattoo stood out sharply on his
forehead.

“Th’ good docker!” Idaho shouted. “Whad’re you, Doc? Splint ‘n’ pill man?”
He turned blearily toward Jessica. “Makin’ uh damn fool uh m’self, huh?”

Jessica frowned, remained silent, wondering: Why would Idaho get drunk? Was
he drugged?

“Too much spice beer,” Idaho said, attempting to straighten.

Mapes returned with a steaming cup in her hands, stopped uncertainly behind
Yueh. She looked at Jessica, who shook her head.

Yueh put his kit on the floor, nodded greeting to Jessica, said: “Spice
beer, eh?”

“Bes’ damn stuff ever tas’ed,” Idaho said. He tried to pull himself to
attention. “My sword was firs’ blooded on Grumman! Killed a Harkon . . . Harkon
. . . killed ‘im f’r th’ Duke.”

Yueh turned, looked at the cup in Mapes’ hand.

“What is that?”

“Caffeine,” Jessica said.

Yueh took the cup, held it toward Idaho. “Drink this, lad.”

“Don’t wan’ any more f drink.”

“Drink it, I say!”

Idaho’s head wobbled toward Yueh, and he stumbled one step ahead, dragging
the guards with him. “I’m almighdy fed up with pleasin’ th’ ‘Mperial Universe,
Doc. Jus’ once, we’re gonna do th’ thing my way.”

“After you drink this,” Yueh said. “It’s just caffeine.”

“ ‘Sprolly like all res’ uh this place! Damn’ sun ’stoo brighd. Nothin’ has
uh righd color. Ever’thing’s wrong or . . . ”

“Well, it’s nighttime now,” Yueh said. He spoke reasonably. “Drink this like
a good lad. It’ll make you feel better.”

“Don’ wanna feel bedder!”