Paul of Dune hod-1

by Brian Herbert

  “Absolutely not.” Paul didn’t take even a moment to decide. “I forbid it.”

  Irulan added, “Apparently, Lady Margot Fenring was not aware of their intentions, either.”

  The three Reverend Mothers looked startled at Irulan’s detached behavior. But their priorities were no longer hers. In the process of compiling the story of Paul-Muad’Dib Atreides, she had begun to learn other threads of cause and effect — and serious missteps — that made her wonder about the Sisterhood’s wisdom. She discovered that the Bene Gesserit had shaped portions of the historical record as they saw fit, concealing their mistakes and embellishing their successes. Certain facts were like clay in their hands. So it was with Irulan as well, in the telling of her famous husband’s story.

  “We make no attempt to interfere, Sire,” Genino said. “We are merely here to offer —”

  Paul cut her off, his expression dangerous. “You would be wise to consider your words before you speak further. With my truthsense, I hear your lies as if they are shouts.”

  The robed trio departed hastily, with awkward motions. Irulan realized that she was surprisingly amused, though her heart pounded at the thought of what she had dared to do. The repercussions here, and on Wallach IX! She listened until they were well into the hedge maze, then said to Paul, “How they will talk when they return to the Mother School.”

  “I do not fear their talk.” Paul looked at her with unusual candor. “I was something of a disappointment to their breeding plans myself, like Count Fenring. Presumably, his daughter Marie is quite precious to them because of her genetics.”

  Irulan nodded. “With your permission, I would like to inform Lady Margot Fenring of this incident. Perhaps it will make her more of an ally. This was, after all, as much of an affront to Marie as it was to Alia.”

  He studied her momentatily. “You surprise me with your dimensions of complexity, Irulan.”

  “Thank you, my Lord.”

  “Yes, send your message to the Fenrings and tell them what the Bene Gesserit attempted to do here. I am curious to see how they will react.” Paul whirled and left.

  Alone at the center of the maze, Irulan performed a prana-bindu breathing exercise to calm herself.

  10

  Even the best plans can come unraveled if a frayed end is left untended.

  —Bene Gesserit axiom

  In their many years of marriage, Margot Fenring had seen her husband in bad moods, but never quite like this. Learning from Irulan of the Reverend Mothers’ attempt to interfere with Marie’s training had set him off on a private tirade. “Bene Gesserit blundering could jeopardize our delicate plans. What could they have been thinking? Now that Paul Atreides is aware of the Sisterhood’s interest in Marie, he may start asking inconvenient questions. We must accelerate our timetable.”

  Margot bitterly resented the Sisterhood’s interference. Had she and her husband not been clear enough with Reverend Mother Mohiam when they went to Wallach IX? Now they would have to act even more blatantly to bypass the Sisterhood. “Our plan must adapt to circumstances, my love, and we have a sudden opportunity. This provides a convenient catalyst. Now that Irulan has informed us of this outrage, we simply must visit Arrakeen to assure ourselves that Marie is all right.”

  His overlarge eyes glittered. “Hmm-ahh. Yes, the Emperor would not deny us that privilege. Our poor, dear daughter, threatened by the meddling witches.” Fenring kissed her on the cheek. “We shall arrange for immediate passage to Arrakis.”

  ***

  THE COUNT NEEDED no reminders about their plan as he and Lady Margot disembarked at the spaceport outside Muad’Dib’s stupendous, sprawling capital. The journey had given them ample time to discuss nuances, contingencies, and shadings of behavior that they would follow. Their goal remained paramount, the key intersection point of all the lines of possibility.

  Even so, Fenring could not deny the fact that he was eager to see their daughter again. By now she must be ready.

  He and his Lady looked up at the battlements and ramparts of the huge citadel complex that sprawled across the northern suburbs of Arrakeen, centered on the old Residency, and extended all the way to the Shield Wall cliffs — so different from when the Fenrings had lived here! Gigantic suspensor cranes loomed over portions of the vast compound as work continued.

  Margot must have noted a slight quivering in the muscles of his primary weapon hand — tension, preparation. When his wife touched that forearm and made eye contact with him, he felt his pulse slow, just a little. He said, “Mmm, I will let you do the talking for both of us.”

  Yes, they had woven a deadly tapestry of plans, but the Imperium was full of plans and unseen linkages. They had both been surprised to learn of the assassination attempt during the Great Surrender ceremony — not by any of Muad’Dib’s numerous sworn enemies, but by a purportedly faithful Swordmaster. The Count found it amusing. With many attempts brewing, sooner or later some plot was bound to succeed against Paul Atreides. He was like the pretentious, widely despised master of a carnival sideshow, but on a galactic scale.

  Apart from the inconvenience to himself and to his beloved wife, Fenring had not been sad to see Shaddam dislodged from power; by the same token, he would be glad to see an end to the brief, terrible reign of Muad’Dib. In its place, after the turmoil, he would make sure he was in a position to establish something far more efficient and… majestic. Ultimately, whoever sat on the throne would need popular support, as well as a network of fail-safes to maintain power.

  Paul Atreides should have come to him for advice in the first place.

  One of the Spaceport soldiers marched toward them, a statue in motion. Blocking their way, he raised one hand in a stiff, halting gesture, while keeping the other near a sheathed dagger. No emotion showed on his chiseled, weathered face, like something sculpted by sandstorm winds. “State your business in the city of Muad’Dib.”

  “There is no need to be impertinent,” Lady Margot said. “We were cleared on the shuttle. Our daughter is a guest in the Emperor’s household, and we have come in response to an urgent message sent by the Princess Irulan.”

  “Hmm-m-mm, you will treat us with the respect we are due,” Fenring said, his eyes dangerous. “I am a Count of the Landsraad and this is my Lady.”

  Too late to do anything about it, Margot saw that her husband was provoking the self-important brute. When the soldier began to draw the dagger at his waist, it was like touching a trip wire. Fenring hurled himself upon the larger man and struck his wrist a sharp blow, causing the fingers to release the knife just as it came free of the sheath, and the blade clattered to the ground. A second blow to the elbow numbed the soldier’s entire arm, followed by a blurring kick that snapped his ankle sideways, causing the man to topple to the ground. With the side of his hand, Fenring then delivered a precise blow to his opponent’s temple, after which he slammed an elbow into the man’s face. The soldier moaned and went limp, bleeding from one of his eyes.

  Fenring stepped back, looking amused. “Ahh, one of Muad’Dib’s finest, I see.”

  Margot spoke over the sound of running boots and the shouts of other soldiers. “Well, my dear, at least we have their attention now.”

  In a fluid motion, Count Fenring crouched with the recovered knife in his hands, ready to face the men running toward them. Margot went into her own fighting stance with her back to his. This had been one of their projected scenarios, and she hoped it would play out as she anticipated. They could act greatly affronted, insulted by the treatment Muad’Dib gave to his invited guests, and they might experience the slightest relaxation in security around them, later.

  And even if that didn’t happen, she was confident they would survive this minor confrontation.

  The special guards circled them warily, a score of men with drawn weapons — long guns, pistols, dart throwers, swords. Without personal shields, the two of them could easily be cut down, regardless of their fighting skills. But these guards would need instruc
tions from higher up before doing that to a nobleman and his lady. “Hmm-ah-hmm, my apologies,” Count Fenring said, raising his hands in surrender. “That man insulted my Lady, and I, ahh, tend to be overprotective. Entirely my fault.”

  The soldier behind them — who had cleared the Fenrings before they left the shuttle — conferred in low tones with a superior officer. The gruff officer nodded, which seemed to reduce the level of tension by a fraction. He looked in disgust at the wounded soldier trying to recover himself on the ground.

  Then the ranking officer ran his gaze up and down Fenring. “Any soldier who can be so easily bested by a mere… visitor has no business serving among Muad’Dib’s guards. He is relieved of further duty.” He motioned, and the tense Fedaykin put their weapons away. The officer said, “Allow me to show you into the citadel. You can state your business to Princess Irulan herself.”

  Fenring grinned as Margot took his arm, and the two strolled after their escort.

  ***

  WHILE SERVANTS STOOD nearby, Irulan greeted the Fenrings at the arched door of her private citadel wing. Tall and elegant, the eldest daughter of Shaddam IV wore a long gown of black parasilk, cut low at the front and sparkling with tiny Hagal emeralds on the bodice and half sleeves. Her blonde hair was tightly coiffed with a brilliant fire-diamond tiara. She had obviously donned one of her finest court dresses, as if she were back in the Imperial Palace on Kaitain.

  After greeting her guests, Irulan escorted them past a writing desk piled with notes. Fenring glanced curiously at one of the pages, but Irulan quickly directed him toward a dining table where a sumptuous luncheon had been set out. “Won’t you join me for a light repast? I have already summoned Marie, but as you can see this royal fortress is very large.”

  “We are, hmm, quite anxious to see our dear daughter.” Fenring leaned forward to sniff at a sealed tureen, but no odors escaped. He glanced back at the desk, still interested in what Irulan had been doing. Was she writing another one of those damnable propaganda tracts?

  Margot continued, “We were most disturbed to hear about the Sisterhood’s attempt to take over her training. We chose to send Marie here because we did not want her to be entirely indoctrinated in Bene Gesserit ways. But it seems even in the Imperial Court she could not entirely escape them. Is she safe here on Arrakis?”

  The Princess slipped gracefully into a chair at the head of a long table covered in white linen and laid out with silver. “Although you and I are Bene Gesserits, Lady Margot, even we can admit that occasionally the Sisterhood oversteps its bounds. There is no longer a problem as far as your daughter’s schooling is concerned, because Muad’Dib has spoken.” At the memory, her lips quirked in a tight smile. “The Mother School made a grave error in offending him, and he is not likely to forget anytime soon.”

  A servant unsealed the tureen to reveal a thick, dark potage. “Caladanian boar soup,” the Princess said. “My husband’s favorite.”

  Though the visitors tasted their soup and made appropriate sounds of appreciation, Irulan did not sample hers. She said, “Even without Bene Gesserit supervision, questions remain about your daughter and the instruction she has already received. The child is showing certain unusual signs. How has she been trained?”

  Fenring exchanged a quick glance with his wife and said, “Only… ahh, as required, as we saw fit. Her upbringing in Thalidei has not been especially pampered. She has received a broad foundation in numerous disciplines.” The Count ran a finger around the lip of an empty glass. “In our zeal to protect the child, I taught her what I know, as did my wife. And the Tleilaxu had some interesting… ahhh, seasoning for us to consider.”

  Worried that some detail might have slipped, Margot looked at Irulan and asked, “What sort of unusual signs have you seen? Has Marie done anything wrong?”

  “Not at all. She and Alia have become quite close in only a few short months. And Alia, as you are well aware, was born under extremely strange circumstances.”

  “An Abomination,” Margot said, then quirked her lips in a smile. “Another overzealous Bene Gesserit label. Do you suggest Marie is also pre-born?”

  Irulan shook her head. “No, but she seems every bit Alia’s match and equally as cunning. You have not been entirely candid with us from the beginning.”

  “Our daughter is a special child,” Margot said.

  The Count smiled. “Ah, um-m-m. It sounds to me like the two girls are quite suited to each other as playmates. We couldn’t have asked for better.”

  Moments later, little Marie came running into Irulan’s private apartments. She wore a pink-and-white party dress with a lacy frill on the hem and white shoes that clicked on the floor as she ran. Her parents rose to their feet, and she went to the Count first and hugged him.

  “Thank you for sending me to Arrakeen. I love it here,” Marie said to him. “Everyone treats me well, and I’ve been a good girl.”

  “We’re pleased to hear that, darling.”

  11

  Paul Atreides, like his father the Red Duke, allowed dangerous people into his inner circle. A risk-taker, he claimed it was the best way to keep his senses honed.

  —from The Life of Muad’Dib, Volume 1, by the PRINCESS IRULAN

  Your daughter is an interesting child, Count Fenring,” Paul said, as he led his visitor down an underground stairway. “She has remarkable genes,” Fenring answered, without elaborating further. “I am pleased you find the girl as exceptional as we do.”

  Workers had found this old passage when they were excavating the citadel, deeper than the original foundation of the Arrakeen Residency, so well hidden that it had not been detected during the initial scan for Harkonnen traps long ago. Paul doubted Fenring knew of its existence, though the tunnel was incomparably older than the building above, and its existence led him to believe there might be other passages tangled beneath the ancient structure. The air here was clean and cool, the steps heavily worn from the passage of many feet in ancient times. Thousands and thousands of years ago.

  Fenring followed several steps back, descending carefully in the dim light, looking around with his overlarge eyes. In the low yellow illumination from glowstrips recently applied to the sides of the steps, the narrow-faced man looked nocturnal, ever alert and wary.

  On short notice that morning, Paul had summoned the Count, taking him beneath the eastern wing of the citadel — away from guards and eavesdroppers. “Do you doubt my ability to defend myself — even from someone like him?” Paul had asked the anxious Fedaykin, and they had withdrawn their objections. Nevertheless, where this man was concerned, Paul’s prescience was hopelessly unreliable.

  Count Hasimir Fenring. Such a notorious, dangerous reputation he had, but Paul had always felt a faint echo of compassion for this person who had served Shaddam IV, sensing that perhaps he had more in common with Fenring than either of them realized.

  “I know what you are, Count — what the Bene Gesserit wanted you to be. I sensed things about you from the moment I laid eyes on you in the Padishah Emperor’s presence. You are much like me.”

  “Hm-m-m-m. And how is that?”

  “Each of us is a failed Kwisatz Haderach — failed in the eyes of the Sisterhood, at least. They didn’t get what they wanted from you, and they cannot control me. I am not surprised they would be so fascinated with your daughter.”

  “Ahh, who can understand the myriad breeding schemes of witches?”

  “Who can understand the many things we must do?” Paul added.

  After ending the Thorvald rebellion with emphatic violence, Paul had been forced to sterilize two more planets, completely eradicating their populations. Sterilization… worse even than what had happened on Salusa Secundus, worse than what Viscount Moritani had threatened to do on Grumman. Paul realized that he barely felt any guilt over what he had done.

  Have I become so accustomed to causing death and destruction? At the thought, a cold wave passed through his chest.

  He remembered killing Jami
s in combat, the first life he had ever taken. He had been shaken but proud of his accomplishment, until his mother brought down a hammer of guilt on him. Well, now — how does it feel to be a killer?

  He had grown too comfortable with the feeling. Muad’Dib could order the annihilation of worlds without a second thought, and no one would question him. Paul, the human, could never allow himself to forget that.

  Because Count Fenring had also been groomed as a Kwisatz Haderach, also intended to be a pawn… maybe the two of them had a common basis for understanding that Paul could not experience with anyone else, not even with Chani.

  Reaching the bottom of the stairway, Paul stood at the opening of a rock-lined tunnel. “I am not a god, Count Fenring, despite the mythology that has arisen around me.” He motioned to the left, where a side passageway was illuminated by glowglobes that bobbed with the slight disturbance in the air.

  “We, hmmm, have much to learn from one another. And perhaps through that understanding we can better learn about ourselves. You would like us to be, ahh-hmm-mm, friends? Do you forget that Shaddam told me to fight you after the Battle of Arrakeen?”

  “I remember that you refused. It is the difference between pragmatism and loyalty, Count. You saw who was the victor and who was the vanquished, and you made your choice.”

  “Yes, hmm, but I did voluntarily accept exile with Shaddam, until I felt the need to move on. We did not want our daughter raised on Salusa Secundus.”

  They rounded a bend, where the passageway narrowed. “All relationships change, Count Fenring, and as humans we must adapt to them or die.”

  “Adapt or die?” Warily, the Count peered down the tunnel in one direction and another. “Um-m-m-ah, do you have interrogation chambers down here?”

  “All Empires require such things,” Paul answered. “The Corrinos certainly did.”