Dune (27 page)

Leto tried to look down at the tooth in Yueh’s hand. He felt this was
happening in a nightmare–it could not be.

Yueh’s purple lips turned up in a grimace. “I’ll not get close enough to the
Baron, or I’d do this myself. No. I’ll be detained at a safe distance. But you .
. . ah, now! You, my lovely weapon! He’ll want you close to him–to gloat over
you, to boast a little.”

Leto found himself almost hypnotized by a muscle on the left side of Yueh’s
jaw. The muscle twisted when the man spoke.

Yueh leaned closer. “And you, my good Duke, my precious Duke, you must
remember this tooth.” He held it up between thumb and forefinger. “It will be
all that remains to you.”

Leto’s mouth moved without sound, then: “Refuse.”

“Ah-?h, no! You mustn’t refuse. Because, in return for this small service.
I’m doing a thing for you. I will save your son and your woman. No other can do
it. They can be removed to a place where no Harkonnen can reach them.”

“How . . . save . . . them?” Leto whispered.

“By making it appear they’re dead, by secreting them among people who draw
knife at hearing the Harkonnen name, who hate the Harkonnens so much they’ll
burn a chair in which a Harkonnen has sat, salt the ground over which a
Harkonnen has walked.” He touched Leto’s jaw. “Can you feel anything in your
jaw?”

The Duke found that he could not answer. He sensed distant tugging, saw
Yueh’s hand come up with the ducal signet ring.

“For Paul,” Yueh said. “You’ll be unconscious presently. Good-?by, my poor
Duke. When next we meet we’ll have no time for conversation.”

Cool remoteness spread upward from Leto’s jaw, across his cheeks. The
shadowy, hall narrowed to a pinpoint with Yueh’s purple lips centered in it.

“Remember the tooth!” Yueh hissed. “The tooth!”

= = = = = =

There should be a science of discontent. People need hard times and oppression
to develop psychic muscles.
-from “Collected Sayings of Muad’Dib” by the Princess Irulan

Jessica awoke in the dark, feeling premonition in the stillness around her.
She could not understand why her mind and body felt so sluggish. Skin raspings
of fear ran along her nerves. She thought of sitting up and turning on a light,
but something stayed the decision. Her mouth felt . . . strange.

Lump-?lump-?lump-?lump!

It was a dull sound, directionless in the dark. Somewhere.

The waiting moment was packed with time, with rustling needle-?stick
movements.

She began to feel her body, grew aware of bindings on wrists and ankles, a
gag in her mouth. She was on her side, hands tied behind her. She tested the
bindings, realized they were krimskell fiber, would only claw tighter as she
pulled.

And now, she remembered.

There had been movement in the darkness of her bedroom, something wet and
pungent slapped against her face, filling her mouth, hands grasping for her. She
had gasped–one indrawn breath–sensing the narcotic in the wetness.
Consciousness had receded, sinking her into a black bin of terror.

It has come, she thought. How simple it was to subdue the Bene Gesserit. All
it took was treachery. Hawat was right.

She forced herself not to pull on her bindings.

This is not my bedroom, she thought. They’ve taken me someplace else.

Slowly, she marshaled the inner calmness.

She grew aware of the smell of her own stale sweat with its chemical
infusion of fear.

Where is Paul? she asked herself. My son–what have they done to him?

Calmness.

She forced herself to it, using the ancient routines.

But terror remained so near.

Leto? Where are you, Leto?

She sensed a diminishing in the dark. It began with shadows. Dimensions
separated, became new thorns of awareness. White. A line under a door.

I’m on the floor.

People walking. She sensed it through the floor.

Jessica squeezed back the memory of terror. I must remain calm, alert, and
prepared. I may get only one chance. Again, she forced the inner calmness.

The ungainly thumping of her heartbeats evened, shaping out time. She
counted back. I was unconscious about an hour. She closed her eyes, focused her
awareness onto the approaching footsteps.

Four people.

She counted the differences in their steps.

I must pretend I’m still unconscious. She relaxed against the cold floor,
testing her body’s readiness, heard a door open, sensed increased light through
her eyelids.

Feet approached: someone standing over her.

“You are awake,” rumbled a basso voice. “Do not pretend.”

She opened her eyes.

The Baron Vladimir Harkonnen stood over her. Around them, she recognized the
cellar room where Paul had slept, saw his cot at one side–empty. Suspensor
lamps were brought in by guards, distributed near the open door. There was a
glare of light in the hallway beyond that hurt her eyes.

She looked up at the Baron. He wore a yellow cape that bulged over his
portable suspensors. The fat cheeks were two cherubic mounds beneath spider-
black eyes.

“The drug was timed,” he rumbled. “We knew to the minute when you’d be
coming out of it.”

How could that be? she wondered. They ‘d have to know my exact weight, my
metabolism, my . . . Yueh!

“Such a pity you must remain gagged,” the Baron said. “We could have such an
interesting conversation.”

Yueh’s the only one it could be, she thought. How?

The Baron glanced behind him at the door. “Come in, Piter.”

She had never before seen the man who entered to stand beside the Baron, but
the face was known–and the man: Piter de Vries, the Mentat-?Assassin. She
studied him–hawk features, blue-?ink eyes that suggested he was a native of
Arrakis, but subtleties of movement and stance told her he was not. And his
flesh was too well firmed with water. He was tall, though slender, and something
about him suggested effeminacy.

“Such a pity we cannot have our conversation, my dear Lady Jessica.” the
Baron said. “However, I’m aware of your abilities.” He glanced at the Mentat.
“Isn’t that true, Piter?”

“As you say, Baron,” the man said.
The voice was tenor. It touched her spine with a wash of coldness. She had
never heard such a chill voice. To one with the Bene Gesserit training, the
voice screamed: Killer!

“I have a surprise for Piter,” the Baron said. “He thinks he has come here
to collect his reward–you, Lady Jessica. But I wish to demonstrate a thing:
that he does not really want you.”

“You play with me, Baron?” Piter asked, and he smiled.

Seeing that smile, Jessica wondered that the Baron did not leap to defend
himself from this Piter. Then she corrected herself. The Baron could not read
that smile. He did not have the Training.

“In many ways, Piter is quite naive,” the Baron said. “He doesn’t admit to
himself what a deadly creature you are, Lady Jessica. I’d show him, but it’d be
a foolish risk.” The Baron smiled at Piter, whose face had become a waiting
mask. “I know what Piter really wants. Piter wants power.”

“You promised I could have her,” Piter said. The tenor voice had lost some
of its cold reserve.

Jessica heard the clue-?tones in the man’s voice, allowed herself an inward
shudder. How could the Baron have made such an animal out of a Mentat?

“I give you a choice, Piter,” the Baron said.

“What choice?”

The Baron snapped fat fingers. “This woman and exile from the Imperium, or
the Duchy of Atreides on Arrakis to rule as you see fit in my name.”

Jessica watched the Baron’s spider eyes study Piter.

“You could be Duke here in all but name,” the Baron said.

Is my Leto dead, then? Jessica asked herself. She felt a silent wail begin
somewhere in her mind.

The Baron kept his attention on the Mentat. “Understand yourself, Piter. You
want her because she was a Duke’s woman, a symbol of his power–beautiful,
useful, exquisitely trained for her role. But an entire duchy, Piter! That’s
more than a symbol; that’s the reality. With it you could have many women . . .
and more.”

“You do not joke with Piter?”

The Baron turned with that dancing lightness the suspensors gave him. “Joke?
I? Remember–I am giving up the boy. You heard what the traitor said about the
lad’s training. They are alike, this mother and son–deadly.” The Baron smiled.
“I must go now. I will send in the guard I’ve reserved for this moment. He’s
stone deaf. His orders will be to convey you on the first leg of your journey
into exile. He will subdue this woman if he sees her gain control of you. He’ll
not permit you to untie her gag until you’re off Arrakis. If you choose not to
leave . . . he has other orders.”

“You don’t have to leave,” Piter said. “I’ve chosen.”

“Ah, hah!” the Baron chortled. “Such quick decision can mean only one
thing.”

“I will take the duchy,” Piter said.

And Jessica thought: Doesn’t Piter know the Baron’s lying to him? But–how
could he know? He’s a twisted Mentat.

The Baron glanced down at Jessica. “Is it not wonderful that I know Piter so
well? I wagered with my Master at Arms that this would be Piter’s choice. Hah!
Well, I leave now. This is much better. Ah-?h, much better. You understand, Lady
Jessica? I hold no rancor toward you. It’s a necessity. Much better this way.
Yes. And I’ve not actually ordered you destroyed. When it’s asked of me what
happened to you, I can shrug it off in all truth.”

“You leave it to me then?” Piter asked.

“The guard I send you will take your orders,” the Baron said. “Whatever’s
done I leave to you.” He stared at Piter. “Yes. There will be no blood on my
hands here. It’s your decision. Yes. I know nothing of it. You will wait until
I’ve gone before doing whatever you must do. Yes. Well . . . ah, yes. Yes.
Good.“

He fears the questioning of a Truthsayer, Jessica thought. Who? Ah-?h-?h, the
Reverend Mother Gaius Helen, of course! If he knows he must face her questions,
then the Emperor is in on this for sure. Ah-?h-?h-?h, my poor Leto.

With one last glance at Jessica, the Baron turned, went out the door. She
followed him with her eyes, thinking: It’s as the Reverend Mother warned–too
potent an adversary.

Two Harkonnen troopers entered. Another, his face a scarred mask, followed
and stood in the doorway with drawn lasgun.

The deaf one, Jessica thought, studying the scarred face. The Baron knows I
could use the Voice on any other man.

Scarface looked at Piter. ”We’ve the boy on a litter outside. What are your
orders?“

Piter spoke to Jessica. ”I’d thought of binding you by a threat held over
your son, but I begin to see that would not have worked, I let emotion cloud
reason. Bad policy for a Mentat.“ He looked at the first pair of troopers,
turning so the deaf one could read his lips: ”Take them into the desert as the
traitor suggested for the boy. His plan is a good one. The worms will destroy
all evidence. Their bodies must never be found.“

”You don’t wish to dispatch them yourself?“ Scarface asked.

He reads lips, Jessica thought.

”I follow my Baron’s example,“ Piter said. ”Take them where the traitor
said.“

Jessica heard the harsh Mentat control in Piter’s voice, thought: He, too,
fears the Truthsayer.

Piter shrugged, turned, and went through the doorway. He hesitated there,
and Jessica thought he might turn back for a last look at her, but he went out
without turning.

”Me, I wouldn’t like the thought of facing that Truthsayer after this
night’s work,“ Scarface said.

”You ain’t likely ever to run into that old witch,“ one of the other
troopers said. He went around to Jessica’s head, bent over her. ”It ain’t
getting our work done standing around here chattering. Take her feet and–“

”Why’n't we kill ‘em here?“ Scarface asked.

”Too messy,“ the first one said. ”Unless you wants to strangle’em. Me, I
likes a nice straightforward job. Drop ‘em on the desert like that traitor said,
cut ‘em once or twice, leave ‘the evidence for the worms. Nothing to clean up
afterwards.“

”Yeah . . . well, I guess you’re right,” Scarface said.

Jessica listened to them, watching, registering. But the gag blocked her
Voice, and there was the deaf one to consider.

Scarface holstered his lasgun, took her feet. They lifted her like a sack of
grain, maneuvered her through the door and dumped her onto a suspensor-?buoyed
litter with another bound figure. As they turned her, fitting her to the litter,
she saw her companion’s face–Paul! He was bound, but not gagged. His face was
no more than ten centimeters from hers, eyes closed, his breathing even.

Is he drugged? she wondered.

The troopers lifted the litter, and Paul’s eyes opened the smallest
fraction–dark slits staring at her.

He mustn’t try the Voice! she prayed. The deaf guard!

Paul’s eyes closed.

He had been practicing the awareness-?breathing, calming his mind, listening
to their captors. The deaf one posed a problem, but Paul contained his despair.
The mind-?calming Bene Gesserit regimen his mother had taught him kept him
poised, ready to expand any opportunity.
Paul allowed himself another slit-?eyed inspection of his mother’s face. She
appeared unharmed. Gagged, though.

He wondered who could’ve captured her. His own captivity was plain enough–
to bed with a capsule prescribed by Yueh, awaking to find himself bound to this
litter. Perhaps a similar thing had befallen her. Logic said the traitor was
Yueh, but he held final decision in abeyance. There was no understanding it–a
Suk doctor a traitor.

The litter tipped slightly as the Harkonnen troopers maneuvered it through a
doorway into starlit night. A suspensor-?buoy rasped against the doorway. Then
they were on sand, feet grating in it. A ‘thopter wing loomed overhead, blotting
the stars. The litter settled to the ground.

Paul’s eyes adjusted to the faint light. He recognized the deaf trooper as
the man who opened the ‘thopter door, peered inside at the green gloom
illuminated by the instrument panel.