Dune (70 page)

Stilgar obeyed.

This was not as we planned it, Jessica thought.

”Repeat after me, Stilgar,“ Paul said, and he called up the words of
investiture as he had heard his own father use them. ”I, Stilgar, take this
knife from the hands of my Duke.“

”I, Stilgar, take this knife from the hands of my Duke,“ Stilgar said, and
accepted the milky blade from Paul.

”Where my Duke commands, there shall I place this blade,“ Paul said.

Stilgar repeated the words, speaking slowly and solemnly.

Remembering the source of the rite, Jessica blinked back tears, shook her
head. I know the reasons for this, she thought. I shouldn’t let it stir me.

”I dedicate this blade to the cause of my Duke and the death of his enemies
for as long as our blood shall flow,” Paul said.

Stilgar repeated it after him.
“Kiss the blade,” Paul ordered.

Stilgar obeyed, then, in the Fremen manner, kissed Paul’s knife arm. At a
nod from Paul, he sheathed the blade, got to his feet.

A sighing whisper of awe passed through the crowd, and Jessica heard the
words: “The prophecy — A Bene Gesserit shall show the way and a Reverend Mother
shall see it.” And, from farther away: “She shows us through her son!”

“Stilgar leads this tribe,” Paul said. “Let no man mistake that. He commands
with my voice. What he tells you, it is as though I told you.”

Wise, Jessica thought. The tribal commander must lose no face among those
who should obey him.

Paul lowered his voice, said: “Stilgar, I want sandwalkers out this night
and cielagos sent to summon a Council Gathering. When you’ve sent them, bring
Chatt, Korba and Otheym and two other lieutenants of your own choosing. Bring
them to my quarters for battle planning. We must have a victory to show the
Council of Leaders when they arrive.”

Paul nodded for his mother to accompany him, led the way down off the ledge
and through the throng toward the central passage and the living chambers that
had been prepared there. As Paul pressed through the crowd, hands reached out to
touch him. Voices called out to him.

“My knife goes where Stilgar commands it, Paul-?Muad’Dib! Let us fight soon,
Paul-?Muad’Dib! Let us wet our world with the blood of Harkonnens!”

Feeling the emotions of the throng, Jessica sensed the fighting edge of
these people. They could not be more ready. We are taking them at the crest, she
thought.

In the inner chamber, Paul motioned his mother to be seated, said: “Wait
here.” And he ducked through the hangings to the side passage.

It was quiet in the chamber after Paul had gone, so quiet behind the
hangings that not even the faint soughing of the wind pumps that circulated air
in the sietch penetrated to where she sat.

He is going to bring Gurney Halleck here, she thought. And she wondered at
the strange mingling of emotions that filled her. Gurney and his music had been
a part of so many pleasant times on Caladan before the move to Arrakis. She felt
that Caladan had happened to some other person. In the nearly three years since
then, she had become another person. Having to confront Gurney forced a
reassessment of the changes.

Paul’s coffee service, the fluted alloy of silver and jasmium that he had
inherited from Jamis, rested on a low table to her right. She stared at it,
thinking of how many hands had touched that metal. Chani had served Paul from it
within the month.

What can his desert woman do for a Duke except serve him coffee? she asked
herself. She brings him no power, no family. Paul has only one major chance —
to ally himself with a powerful Great House, perhaps even with the Imperial
family. There are marriageable princesses, after all, and every one of them Bene
Gesserit trained.

Jessica imagined herself leaving the rigors of Arrakis for the life of power
and security she could know as mother of a royal consort. She glanced at the
thick hangings that obscured the rock of this cavern cell, thinking of how she
had come here — riding amidst a host of worms, the palanquins and pack
platforms piled high with necessities for the coming campaign.

As long as Chani lives, Paul will not see his duty, Jessica thought. She has
given him a son and that is enough.

A sudden longing to see her grandson, the child whose likeness carried so
much of the grandfather’s features — so like Leto, swept through her. Jessica
placed her palms against her cheeks, began the ritual breathing that stilled
emotion and clarified the mind, then bent forward from the waist in the
devotional exercise that prepared the body for the mind’s demands.
Paul’s choice of this Cave of Birds as his command post could not be
questioned, she knew. It was ideal. And to the north lay Wind Pass opening onto
a protected village in a cliff-?walled sink. It was a key village, home of
artisans and technicians, maintenance center for an entire Harkonnen defensive
sector.

A cough sounded outside the chamber hangings. Jessica straightened, took a
deep breath, exhaled slowly. “Enter,” she said.

Draperies were flung aside and Gurney Halleck bounded into the room. She had
only time for a glimpse of his face with its odd grimace, then he was behind
her, lifting her to her feet with one brawny arm beneath her chin.

“Gurney, you fool, what are you doing?” she demanded.

Then she felt the touch of the knife tip against her back. Chill awareness
spread out from that knife tip. She knew in that instant that Gurney meant to
kill her. Why? She could think of no reason, for he wasn’t the kind to turn
traitor. But she felt certain of his intention. Knowing it, her mind churned.
Here was no man to be overcome easily. Here was a killer wary of the Voice, wary
of every combat stratagem, wary of every trick of death and violence. Here was
an instrument she herself had helped train with subtle hints and suggestions.

“You thought you had escaped, eh, witch?” Gurney snarled.

Before she could turn the question over in her mind or try to answer, the
curtains parted and Paul entered.

“Here he is, Moth –” Paul broke off, taking in the tensions of the scene.

“You will stand where you are, m’Lord,” Gurney said.

“What . . . ” Paul shook his head.

Jessica started to speak, felt the arm tighten against her throat.

“You will speak only when I permit it, witch,” Gurney said. “I want only one
thing from you for your son to hear it, and I am prepared to send this knife
into your heart by reflex at the first sign of a counter against me. Your voice
will remain in a monotone. Certain muscles you will not tense or move. You will
act with the most extreme caution to gain yourself a few more seconds of life.
And I assure you, these are all you have.”

Paul took a step forward. “Gurney, man, what is –”

“Stop right where you are!” Gurney snapped. “One more step and she’s dead.”

Paul’s hand slipped to his knife hilt. He spoke in a deadly quiet: “You had
best explain yourself, Gurney.”

“I swore an oath to slay the betrayer of your father,” Gurney said. “Do you
think I can forget the man who rescued me from a Harkonnen slave pit, gave me
freedom, life, and honor . . . gave me friendship, a thing I prized above all
else? I have his betrayer under my knife. No one can stop me from –”

“You couldn’t be more wrong, Gurney,” Paul said.

And Jessica thought: So that’s it! What irony!

“Wrong, am I?” Gurney demanded. “Let us hear it from the woman herself. And
let her remember that I have bribed and spied and cheated to confirm this
charge. I’ve even pushed semuta on a Harkonnen guard captain to get part of the
story.”

Jessica felt the arm at her throat ease slightly, but before she could
speak, Paul said: “The betrayer was Yueh. I tell you this once, Gurney. The
evidence is complete, cannot be controverted. It was Yueh. I do not care how you
came by your suspicion — for it can be nothing else — but if you harm my
mother . . . ” Paul lifted his crysknife from its scabbard, held the blade in
front of him. “. . . I’ll have your blood.”

“Yueh was a conditioned medic, fit for a royal house,” Gurney snarled. “He
could not turn traitor!”

“I know a way to remove that conditioning,” Paul said.

“Evidence,” Gurney insisted.

“The evidence is not here,” Paul said. “It’s in Tabr sietch, far to the
south, but if –”
“This is a trick,” Gurney snarled, and his arm tightened on Jessica’s
throat.

“No trick, Gurney,” Paul said, and his voice carried such a note of terrible
sadness that the sound tore at Jessica’s heart.

“I saw the message captured from the Harkonnen agent,” Gurney said. “The
note pointed directly at –”

“I saw it, too,” Paul said. “My father showed it to me the night he
explained why it had to be a Harkonnen trick aimed at making him suspect the
woman he loved.”

“Ayah!” Gurney said. “You’ve not –”

“Be quiet,” Paul said, and the monotone stillness of his words carried more
command than Jessica had ever heard in another voice.

He has the Great Control, she thought.

Gurney’s arm trembled against her neck. The point of the knife at her back
moved with uncertainty.

“What you have not done,” Paul said, “is heard my mother sobbing in the
night over her lost Duke. You have not seen her eyes stab flame when she speaks
of killing Harkonnens.”

So he has listened, she thought. Tears blinded her eyes.

“What you have not done,” Paul went on, “is remembered the lessons you
learned in a Harkonnen slave pit. You speak of pride in my father’s friendship!
Didn’t you learn the difference between Harkonnen and Atreides so that you could
smell a Harkonnen trick by the stink they left on it? Didn’t you learn that
Atreides loyalty is bought with love while the Harkonnen coin is hate? Couldn’t
you see through to the very nature of this betrayal?”

“But Yueh?” Gurney muttered.

“The evidence we have is Yueh’s own message to us admitting his treachery,”
Paul said. “I swear this to you by the love I hold for you, a love I will still
hold even after I leave you dead on this floor.”

Hearing her son, Jessica marveled at the awareness in him, the penetrating
insight of his intelligence.

“My father had an instinct for his friends,” Paul said. “He gave his love
sparingly, but with never an error. His weakness lay in misunderstanding hatred.
He thought anyone who hated Harkonnens could not betray him.” He glanced at his
mother. “She knows this. I’ve given her my father’s message that he never
distrusted her.”

Jessica felt herself losing control, bit at her lower lip. Seeing the stiff
formality in Paul, she realized what these words were costing him. She wanted to
run to him, cradle his head against her breast as she never had done. But the
arm against her throat had ceased its trembling; the knifepoint at her back
pressed still and sharp.

“One of the most terrible moments in a boy’s life,” Paul said, “is when he
discovers his father and mother are human beings who share a love that he can
never quite taste. It’s a loss, an awakening to the fact that the world is there
and here and we are in it alone. The moment carries its own truth; you can’t
evade it. I heard my father when he spoke of my mother. She’s not the betrayer,
Gurney.”

Jessica found her voice, said: “Gurney, release me.” There was no special
command in the words, no trick to play on his weaknesses, but Gurney’s hand fell
away. She crossed to Paul, stood in front of him, not touching him.

“Paul,” she said, “there are other awakenings in this universe. I suddenly
see how I’ve used you and twisted you and manipulated you to set you on a course
of my choosing . . . a course I had to choose — if that’s any excuse — because
of my own training.” She swallowed past a lump in her throat, looked up into her
son’s eyes. “Paul . . . I want you to do something for me: choose the course of
happiness. Your desert woman, marry her if that’s your wish. Defy everyone and
everything to do this. But choose your own course. I . . . ”
She broke off, stopped by the low sound of muttering behind her.

Gurney!

She saw Paul’s eyes directed beyond her, turned.

Gurney stood in the same spot, but had sheathed his knife, pulled the robe
away from his breast to expose the slick grayness of an issue stillsuit, the
type the smugglers traded for among the sietch warrens.

“Put your knife right here in my breast,” Gurney muttered. “I say kill me
and have done with it. I’ve besmirched my name. I’ve betrayed my own Duke! The
finest –”

“Be still!” Paul said.

Gurney stared at him.

“Close that robe and stop acting like a fool,” Paul said. “I’ve had enough
foolishness for one day.”

“Kill me, I say!” Gurney raged.

“You know me better than that,” Paul said. “How many kinds of an idiot do
you think I am? Must I go through this with every man I need?”

Gurney looked at Jessica, spoke in a forlorn, pleading note so unlike him:
“Then you, my Lady, please . . . you kill me.”

Jessica crossed to him, put her hands on his shoulders. “Gurney, why do you
insist the Atreides must kill those they love?” Gently, she pulled the spread
robe out of his fingers, closed and fastened the fabric over his chest.

Gurney spoke brokenly; “But . . . I . . . ”

“You thought you were doing a thing for Leto,” she said, “and for this I
honor you.”

“My Lady,” Gurney said. He dropped his chin to his chest, squeezed his
eyelids closed against the tears.

“Let us think of this as a misunderstanding among old friends,” she said,
and Paul heard the soothers, the adjusting tones in her voice. “It’s over and we
can be thankful we’ll never again have that sort of misunderstanding between
us.”

Gurney opened eyes bright with moisture, looked down at her.

“The Gurney Halleck I knew was a man adept with both blade and baliset,”
Jessica said. “It was the man of the baliset I most admired. Doesn’t that Gurney
Halleck remember how I used to enjoy listening by the hour while he played for
me? Do you still have a baliset, Gurney?”