The concubine screamed in agony, screamed again, then fell into sucking moans and shudders, and finally became silent. . . . No lacerations, no blood, only imagined agony. All of the pain, but no incriminating marks— could murder get better than this?
With pleasure suffusing his brain, Fenring knelt over the senior concubine, studying her shapely body crumpled on top of the disheveled towel. Good skin tone, firm muscles, now slack with death. It was hard to believe this woman was as old as they claimed. It must have required a lot of melange, and quite a bit of body conditioning. He felt Grera’s neck for a pulse, then double-checked. None remained. Disappointing . . . in a way.
There was no blood on the body or on the green knife blade, no deep wounds— but he had stabbed her to death. Or so she had thought.
An interesting weapon, this neuroblade. It was the first time he had ever used one. Fenring always liked to test the important tools of his trade in noncombat situations, since he didn’t want to be surprised in a crisis.
Called a “ponta” by its Richesian inventor, it was one of the few recent innovations Fenring considered worthwhile from that tiresome world. The illusionary green blade slid back into its compartment with a realistic snick. The victim had not only thought she was being stabbed to death, but through intense neurostimulation actually felt an attack powerful enough to kill. In a sense Grera’s own mind had killed her. And now there wasn’t a mark on her skin.
Sometimes real blood added an exhilarating cap to an already-thrilling experience, but the cleanup often caused problems.
He recognized familiar noises behind him: an opening door and deactivated security field. Turning, he saw Shaddam staring down at him. “Was that really necessary, Hasimir? What a waste. . . . Still, she had outlived her usefulness.”
“Poor old thing had a heart attack, I guess.” From a fold of his tunic Fenring brought forth another ponta, this one ruby-jeweled with a long red blade. “I’d better test this one, too,” he said. “Your father is hanging on longer than we’d hoped, and this would finish him off neatly. No evidence on the corpse, not a mark. Why wait for the n’kee to continue its work?” He grinned.
Shaddam shook his head, as if finally having second thoughts. He looked around, shuddered, and tried to appear stern. “We’ll wait as long as we have to. We agreed not to make any sudden moves.” Fenring hated it when the Crown Prince tried to think too much.
“Hmmm-mm? I thought you were so anxious! He’s been making terrible business decisions, wasting Corrino money every day he stays alive.” His large eyes glittered. “The longer he remains in a state like this, the more history will paint him as a pathetic ruler.”
“I can’t do any more to my father,” Shaddam said. “I’m afraid of what might happen.”
Hasimir Fenring bowed. “As you wish, my Prince.”
They walked away, leaving Grera’s body where it lay. Someone would find it, sooner or later. It wasn’t the first time Fenring had been so blatant, but the other concubines would know not to challenge him. It would be a warning to them, and they would jockey with each other to become the new favorite of the impotent old man, using the situation to their advantage.
By the time word finally got back to the Emperor, he probably wouldn’t even remember Grera Cary’s name.
Man is but a pebble dropped in a pool. And if man is but a pebble, then all his works can be no more.
—Zensunni Saying
Leto and Rhombur trained long and hard every day, in the Atreides way. They dived into the exercise routine with all the enthusiasm and determination they could muster. The stocky Ixian Prince regained his vigor, lost some weight, and tightened up his muscles.
The two young men found themselves quite well matched and therefore good sparring partners. Because they trusted one another completely, Leto and Rhombur were able to push their limits, confident that nothing dangerous would happen to them.
Though they trained vigorously, the Old Duke hoped to accomplish more than just turning the exiled Prince into a competent fighter: He also wanted to keep his friend’s son happy and make him feel at home. Paulus could only imagine what terrors Rhombur’s renegade parents must be enduring out in the wilds of the galaxy.
Thufir Hawat let the two fight with recklessness and abandon, honing their skills. Leto soon noticed remarkable improvement, both in himself and in the heir to what little remained of House Vernius.
Following the Master of Assassins’ advice about the weapons of culture and diplomacy as well as swordplay, Rhombur took an interest in music. He dabbled with several instruments before finally settling on the soothing but complex tones of the nine-string baliset. Leaning against a castle wall, he would strum and play simple songs, fingering melodies by ear that he recalled from childhood or pleasant tunes he made up for himself.
Often, his sister Kailea would listen to him play as she studied her lessons in history and religion that were the traditional fare of young noblewomen. Helena Atreides aided in the teaching, at the insistence of Duke Paulus. Kailea studied with good grace, occupying her mind, resigned to her situation as a political prisoner inside Castle Caladan, but trying to imagine more for herself.
Leto knew that his mother’s resentment ran at depths invisible beneath the still waters of her public face. Helena was a hard taskmaster to Kailea, who responded with even greater determination.
Late one evening, Leto went up to the tower room after his parents had retired for the night. He’d intended to ask his father about taking them on one of the Atreides schooners for a day-trip up and down the coast. But as he approached the wooden door to the ducal chambers, he heard Paulus and Helena engaged in deep discussion.
“What have you done to find a new place for those two?” The way his mother said the words, Leto knew exactly whom she meant. “Surely some Minor House on the fringe will take them in if you pay a large enough bribe.”
“I don’t intend to send those children anywhere, and you know that. They are our guests here, and safe from the loathsome Tleilaxu.” His voice dropped to a grumble. “I don’t understand why Elrood doesn’t just send his Sardaukar in to flush those vermin out of the caves on Ix.”
Lady Helena said crisply, “Despite their unpleasant qualities, the Tleilaxu will undoubtedly bring the factories of Ix back to the path of righteousness and obey the strictures established by the Butlerian Jihad.”
Paulus gave an exasperated snort, but Leto knew his mother was deadly serious, and that frightened him all the more. Her voice grew more fervent as she tried to convince her husband.
“Can’t you see, perhaps all of these events were meant to happen? You never should have sent Leto to Ix— he’s already been corrupted by their ways, their prideful thinking, their high-handed ignorance of the laws of God. But the takeover on Ix brought Leto back to us. Don’t make the same mistake again.”
“Mistake? I’m quite pleased with everything our boy’s learned. He’s going to be a fine Duke someday.” Leto heard the thump of a boot tossed into the corner. “Stop your worrying. Don’t you feel at all sorry for poor Rhombur and Kailea?”
Unswayed, she said, “In their pride, the people of Ix have broken the Law, and they have paid for it. Should I feel sorry for them? I think not.”
Paulus hit a piece of furniture hard with his hand, and Leto heard wood scraping across stone, a chair shoved aside. “And I’m to believe you are familiar enough with the inner workings of Ix to make such a judgment? Or have you already come to a conclusion based on what you want to hear, without being troubled by mere lack of evidence?” He laughed, and his tone turned more gentle. “Besides, you seem to be working well with young Kailea. She enjoys your company. How can you say such things about her to me, and then pretend to be kind to her face?”
Helena sounded eminently reasonable. “The children can’t help who they are, Paulus— they didn’t ask to be born there, raised there, exposed to anything but proper teachings. Do you think they’ve ever held the Orange Catholic B
ible? It’s not their fault. They are what they are, and I can’t hate them for it.”
“Then what—”
She lashed out at him with such vehemence that Leto took a silent step backward in surprise out in the shadowy hall. “You’re the one who has made a choice here, Paulus. And you’ve made the wrong one. That choice will cost you and our House dearly.”
He made a rude noise. “There was no choice, Helena. On my honor and my word— there was no choice.”
“Still it was your own decision, despite my warnings and despite my advice. Your decision alone, Paulus Atreides.” Her voice was frighteningly cold. “You must live with the consequences, and be damned by them.”
“Oh, calm down and go to sleep, Helena.”
Unsettled, Leto crept away, his question forgotten, without waiting to see how soon they extinguished the lights.
• • •
The next day, a calm and sunny morning, Leto stood next to Rhombur at an open window, admiring the quays at the base of the promontory. The ocean spread out like a blue-green prairie, curving off to the distant horizon. “A perfect day,” Leto said, realizing that his friend was homesick for the lost underground city of Vernii, probably tired of too much weather. “Now it’s my turn to show you around Caladan.”
The two of them descended the narrow cliffside path and staircase, holding on to rails and vaulting weathered steps, avoiding the slippery moss and the white encrustations of salty spray.
The Duke had several boats tied up at the dock, and Leto chose his favorite coracle, a white motorcraft around fifteen meters in length. With a wide, beamy hull, it featured a spacious cutty cabin in the front and sleeping quarters beneath, reached via a spiral staircase. Aft of the cabin were two decks, at midship and aftship, with cargo holds below: a nice setup for fishing or motor cruising. Additional modules stored on shore could be installed to change the functions of the craft: adding more cabin space or converting one or both cargo holds to additional sleeping or habitation areas.
Servants packed them a lunch while three mariner assistants checked all the onboard systems in preparation for a day-long voyage. Rhombur watched Leto treat these people as friends while they loaded the gear. “Is your wife’s leg better, Jerrik? Did you finish the roof on your smoke shed, Dom?”
Finally, as Rhombur looked on with curiosity and trepidation, Leto clapped him on the shoulder. “Remember your rock collection? You and I are going to dive for coral gems.”
These precious stones, found in knobby coral reefs, were popular pieces on Caladan, but perilous to handle. Coral gems were said to hold tiny living creatures that caused their inner fires to dance and simmer. Because of the hazards and expense of containment, the gems did not support much of an off-world export market, given the more viable alternative of soostones from Buzzell. But local coral gems were lovely, nonetheless.
Leto thought he wanted to give one to Kailea as a present. With the wealth of House Atreides, he could afford to buy Rhombur’s sister many greater treasures if he wished, but the gift might mean more if he procured it himself. She would probably appreciate it either way.
After all preparations were completed, he and Rhombur boarded the wickerwood coracle. An Atreides burgee flew from the stern, snapping in the breeze. As the mariner assistants cast off the lines, one asked, “You can handle this yourself, m’Lord?”
Leto laughed and waved the man away. “Jerrik, you know I’ve been handling these boats for years now. The seas are calm, and we have a shore-com aboard. But thank you for your concern. Don’t worry, we won’t go far, just to the reefs.”
Rhombur wandered the deck and tried to help, doing whatever Leto told him to do. He’d never been on an open boat before. The engines carried them away from the cliffs, beyond the shielded harbor, and out into open water. Sunlight glittered like sparkflies on the rippled surface of the sea.
The Prince of Ix stood at the bow while Leto worked the controls. Rhombur soaked up the experience of water and wind and sun, smiling. He took a deep breath. “I feel so alone and so free out here.”
Looking overboard, Rhombur saw rafts of leathery-leafed seaweed and round gourdlike fruits that held up the plants like air bladders. “Paradan melons,” Leto said. “If you want one, just reach over the side and take it. If you’ve never had paradan fresh from the sea, you’re in for a taste treat . . . though the fruit’s a bit salty for me.”
Far off to starboard a pod of murmons swam like furred logs, large but harmless creatures that drifted with ocean currents, singing to themselves with low, hooting sounds.
Leto sailed the coracle for about an hour, consulting satellite maps and charts, making for a knot of outlying reefs. He handed Rhombur a set of binoculars and indicated a frothy, tumultuous patch on the sea. Isolated black ridges of rock barely poked above the waves like the spine of a sleeping leviathan.
“There’s the reef,” Leto said. “We’ll anchor about half a kilometer away so we don’t risk ripping open the hull. Then we can go diving.” He opened a compartment and withdrew a sack and a small spatula-knife for each of them. “The coral gems don’t grow very deep. We can dive without air tanks.” He slapped Rhombur on the back. “It’s about time you started to earn your keep around here.”
“Just keeping you out of trouble is, uh, effort enough,” Rhombur countered.
After the coracle was secured on its anchor cord, Leto pointed a scanner overboard to map out the contours of the reefs below. “Look at this,” he said, letting his friend view the screen. “See those crannies and tiny caves? That’s where you’ll find the coral gems.”
Rhombur peered at the scanner, nodding.
“Each one is encrusted with a husk, like an organic scab that grows around them. Doesn’t look like much until you crack one open and see the most beautiful pearls in all creation, like molten droplets from a star. You have to keep them wet at all times, because the open air oxidizes them instantly and they become extremely pyrophoric.”
“Oh,” Rhombur said, unsure what the word meant, though he was too proud to ask. Fumbling, he attached his belt, which held the spatula-knife and a small waterlume for probing the darkest caves.
“I’ll show you when we get down there,” Leto said. “How long can you hold your breath?”
“As long as you,” the Prince of Ix said, “naturally.”
Leto stripped off his shirt and pants, while Rhombur hurried to do the same. Simultaneously, both young men dived overboard. Leto stroked downward into the warm water, pulling himself deeper until he felt the pressure around his skull.
The large reef was a convoluted, permanently submerged landscape. Tufts of coralweed waved in the gentle currents, the tiny mouths on their leaves snaring bits of plankton. Jewel-toned fish darted in and out of holes in the layered coral.
Rhombur grabbed his arm and pointed at a long purplish eel that drifted by, streaming a rainbow-hued, feathery tail. The Ixian looked comical with his cheeks swollen, trying to hold in his air.
Grasping the rough coral, Leto pulled himself along and peered into cracks and crevices. He shined the beam of his waterlume all around in his search. With his lungs aching, he finally found a discolored knob and signaled for Rhombur, who swam over. But as Leto pulled out his spatula-knife to pry free the coral gem, Rhombur flailed his arms and swam upward as fast as he could, his air exhausted.
Leto remained beneath the water, though his chest pounded. Finally, he pried loose the nodule, which would likely yield a medium-sized coral gem. With it he swam upward, his chest ready to burst, and finally splashed to the surface where Rhombur clung, panting, to the edge of the coracle.
“Found one,” Leto said. “Look.” Holding the gem underneath the water, he tapped it with the blunt edge of his knife until the outer covering cracked free. Inside, a slightly misshapen ovoid gleamed with self-contained pearly light. Tiny glimmering specks circulated like molten sand trapped within transparent epoxy.
“Exquisite,” Rhombur said.
&n
bsp; Dripping wet, Leto climbed out of the water and onto the midship deck, by the lifeboat station. He dipped a bucket overboard, filling it with seawater, and dropped the coral gem inside before it could dry out in his hands. “Now you have to find one of your own.”
With his blond hair plastered to his head by seawater, the Prince nodded, drew several deep gulps of air, then swam downward again. Leto dived after him.
Within an hour the pair had gathered half a bucket of the beautiful gems. “Nice haul,” Leto said, squatting on the deck beside Rhombur, who, fascinated with the treasure, dipped his fingers into the bucket. “You like those?”
Rhombur grunted. His eyes danced with a child’s delight.
“I’ve worked up quite an appetite,” Leto said. “I’ll go prep the foodpaks.”
“I’m starving, too,” Rhombur said. “Uh, need any help?”
Leto drew himself up and raised his aquiline nose haughtily in the air. “Sir, I am the resident ducal heir, with a long résumé asserting my competence to prepare a simple foodpak.” He strutted to the sheltered galley as Rhombur sorted through the wet coral stones, like a kid playing with marbles.
Some were perfectly spherical, others misshapen and pitted. Rhombur wondered why certain ones had a blazing inner brilliance while others were dull by comparison. He set the three largest stones on the midship deck and watched the sunlight glitter on them, a pale shadow to the brilliance trapped within. He noted their differences, wondered what he and Leto could do with the treasure.
He missed his own collection of gems and crystals, agates and geodes from Ix. He had wandered through caves and tunnels and shafts to find them. He had learned so much of geology that way— and then the Tleilaxu had driven him and his family from their world. He’d been forced to leave everything behind. Although he left it unsaid, Rhombur decided if he ever saw his mother again, he could make a grand gift for her.
Leto leaned out of the galley door. “Lunch is ready. Come and eat before I feed it to the fishes.”
Dune: House Atreides Page 38
