Dune: House Atreides (60 page)

directorship and became a voting member of the Council -- something this family might never otherwise have achieved.

"When the wedding party came here with Lady Helena, however, perhaps not all of her retainers granted their full loyalty to Atreides. Contact could have been made between Harkonnen agents and Stablemaster Yresk . . . without Lady Helena's knowledge, of course."

"That's wild conjecture, especially for a Mentat," Yresk said. He looked for support from anyone in the room, Leto noticed -- with the exception of Helena, whose eyes he now seemed to avoid. On his thin throat, his Adam's apple bobbed up and down.

Leto stared at his mother sitting in silence beside him, at the set of her jaw.

A sharp cold sliced unbidden down his spine. Through the carved wood of their closed bedroom door, Leto had heard her words concerning his father's Vernius policy. You're the one who's made a choice here, Paulus. And you've made the wrong one. Now the words echoed in Leto's head. That choice will cost you and our House dearly.

"Uh, nobody really watches a stablemaster, Leto," Rhombur pointed out in a low voice.

But Leto continued to observe his mother. Stablemaster Yresk had come to Caladan as part of Helena's wedding entourage from Richese. Could she have turned to him? What sort of hold did she have on the man?

His throat went dry as all the pieces interlocked in his mind with a sudden realization that must have been similar to what a Mentat experienced. She had done it! Lady Helena Atreides herself had set the wheels in motion. Oh, perhaps she'd had some outside assistance, possibly even from Harkonnens . . .

and most certainly Yresk had been the one to carry out the actual details.

But she herself had made the decision to punish Paulus. He knew it in the core of his soul. With her fifteen-year-old son, she would now control Caladan and make the decisions she believed best.

Leto, my son, you are Duke Atreides now. Those had been his mother's words only moments after her husband's death. An odd reaction for a shocked and grief-stricken woman.

"Please stop this," Yresk said, wringing his hands. "M'Lord, I would never betray the House I serve." He pointed at Duncan. "But you know this stable-rat must be a Harkonnen. He came from Giedi Prime not that long ago."

Lady Helena sat rigidly, and when she finally spoke, her voice cracked, as if she hadn't used it much in recent days. She leveled a challenging look at her son. "You've known Yresk since you were a child, Leto. Would you accuse a member of my entourage? Don't be ridiculous."

"No accusations yet, Mother," Leto said very carefully. "It's just discussion at this point." As leader of House Atreides, he had to work hard to distance himself from his childhood, from when he had been an eager boy asking the white-haired stablemaster if he could see the bulls. Yresk had taught him how to pet various animals, ride some of the older mounts, tie knots, and fix harnesses.

But the wide-eyed child Leto was the new Duke of House Atreides.

"We must study the evidence before we draw any conclusions."

Emotions roiled across Yresk's face, and suddenly Leto was afraid of what the stablemaster might say. Pressed into a corner and afraid for his life, would he implicate Helena? The guards in the hall listened attentively. Kailea watched, drinking in every detail. Others would no doubt hear and repeat everything that was spoken here. The scandal would rock Caladan, perhaps the Landsraad itself.

Even if his mother had arranged for the accident at the bullfight, even if Yresk had done it under orders -- or because he had been bribed or blackmailed somehow

-- Leto did not dare let the man confess it here. He required the truth, but in private. If word got out that Lady Helena had been behind the Old Duke's death, it would tear House Atreides apart. His own rule could be damaged beyond repair

. . . and he would have no choice but to deal out the harshest possible justice to his own mother.

He shuddered as he thought of the play Agamemnon, and the curse of Atreus that had dogged his family since the dawn of history. He drew a deep breath, knowing he must be strong.

"Do what you must, lad," his father had said. "No one can blame you for that, as long as you make the right decisions."

But what was the right decision now?

Helena stood up from her chair and spoke to Leto in a cool maternal tone. "The death of my husband was no treachery -- it was a punishment from God." She gestured toward Rhombur and Kailea, who seemed stunned by the proceedings. "My beloved Duke was punished for his friendship with House Vernius, for allowing these children to live in our Castle. Their family has broken the commandments, and Paulus still embraced them. My husband's pride killed him -- not a lowly stablemaster. It's as simple as that."

"I've heard enough, Mother," Leto said.

Helena gave him an indignant, withering glare, as if he were a child. "I am not finished speaking. There is much to being a Duke that you couldn't possibly understand yet --"

Leto remained seated, putting all the power he could muster into his voice and composure. "I am the Duke, Mother, and you will be silent, or I shall have the guards forcibly evict you from the hall and lock you in one of the towers."

Helena's skin paled, and her eyes went wild as she fought to contain her shock.

She couldn't believe her own son had spoken to her in this manner, but thought better of pressing him. As usual, she struggled to maintain appearances. She had seen similar expressions on the Old Duke's face and didn't dare bring the storm closer.

Though it would have been better for him to remain silent, Yresk shouted, "Leto, boy, you can't believe this fatherless stable-rat over me --"

Leto looked at the frantic, scarecrowish man and compared his demeanor with the proud young Duncan's. Yresk's puffy-eyed face sparkled with perspiration. "I do find him more credible, Yresk," Leto said slowly. "And never call me 'boy'

again."

Hawat stepped forward. "We might retrieve further information through deep interrogation. I shall personally question this stablemaster."

Leto's gaze fell on his Mentat. "In private would be best, Thufir. No one but you." He closed his eyes for the briefest moment and swallowed hard. Later, he knew, he would have to send a message to Hawat that the stablemaster must not be allowed to survive the interrogation . . . for fear of what else he might reveal. The Mentat's fractional nod told Leto that he understood much that had been left unsaid. All information Hawat extracted would remain a secret between himself and his Duke.

Yresk howled as the guards grasped his thin arms. Before the stablemaster could shout anything, Hawat clapped a hand over his mouth.

Then, as if it had been timed to occur during the moment of greatest confusion, the guards opened the main hall doors to allow the entry of a uniformed man. He strode in, eyes fixed on Leto and Leto alone, who sat on the chair at the end of the hall. His electronic identity badge marked him as an official Courier, newly disembarked from a lighter at Cala City Spaceport. Leto stiffened, knowing this man could not possibly bear good tidings.

"M'Lord Duke, I bring terrible news." The Courier's words sent an electric shock through everyone in the Court. The hall guards holding Yresk captive stood still, and Hawat gestured for them to leave before the announcement.

The messenger marched up to the chair and stood straight, then drew deep breaths to prepare himself. Knowing the situation here on Caladan with the new Duke and the exiled Ixians, he chose his words carefully.

"It is my sad duty to inform you that the Lady Shando -- branded as a renegade and traitor by Emperor Elrood IX -- has been tracked down and, in accordance with Imperial decree, executed by Sardaukar on Bela Tegeuse. All members of her entourage have also been killed."

Rhombur, looking as if the wind had been knocked from him, slumped in shock onto the polished marble step beside the ducal chair. Kailea, who had watched the entire proceedings in silence, now sobbed. Tears spilled unchecked from her emerald eyes. She leaned against a wall, pounding a stone pillar with a fragile fist until blood blossomed from her hand.

Helena looked at her son with sadness and nodded. "You see, Leto? Another punishment. I was right. The Ixians and all those who assist them are cursed."

Giving his mother a look of hatred, Leto snapped to the guards, "Please take my mother to her chambers and instruct her servants to pack for a long journey."

He fought to keep his voice from trembling. "I believe the stress of recent days requires that she take a quiet rest, someplace far, far from here."

In adverse circumstances, every creature becomes something else, evolving or devolving. What makes us human is that we know what we once were, and -- let us hope -- we remember how to change back.

-AMBASSADOR CAMMAR PILRU,

Dispatches in Defense of Ix

The hiding chamber's silent alarm system woke him again. Damp with sweat from recurring nightmares, C'tair sat bolt upright, ready to fight and fend off the invaders hunting for him.

But the Bene Tleilax hadn't found this place yet, though they had come close, using their damnable scanners. His transmission-shielded bolt-hole was equipped with an automatic internal monitor that should have operated for centuries without trouble, but the fanatical investigators used technology-scanning devices to detect the operation of unapproved machines. Sooner or later they would catch him.

Working with quiet efficiency, he scrambled to shut everything down: all the lights, ventilation, heating elements. Then he sat in the stifling utter darkness, sweating, waiting. He heard nothing except his own breathing. No one pried at the concealed door. Nothing.

After a tong time, he allowed himself to move.

The random scanners would cause serious harm to his shield's ability to continue hiding him and his stockpile. C'tair knew he had to steal one of the devices.

If he could analyze how the Tleilaxu technology worked, he might set up a system to counter its effects.

Most mornings, the halls and public rooms of the former Grand Palais (now a Tleilaxu government office building) were empty. C'tair slipped out of a concealed access shaft and into a storage room near the main corridor. From there, it was only a short distance to a lift tube that led straight out of the building, across to other stalactite structures, and even down to the lower levels. He could keep moving, keep up appearances -- and keep himself alive.

But his chances would be better if he could foil the technology scanners.

The routine investigator might still be in this facility, or the man might have already moved to a different level. C'tair sprinted out on the hunt, listening, watching corridor lights, creeping along. He had already learned all the secrets of this part of the building.

Although C'tair carried a stun-pistol and a lasgun at his side, he feared that Tleilaxu sensor nets would detect their use. Then dedicated teams would be sent out specifically to find him. That was why he held a long, sharp blade in one hand. It would be efficient and silent. The best choice.

Setting up his trap, he finally spotted a balding, pinch-faced Tleilaxu man who approached down the hallway. With two hands he held a little screen that spewed the hues and patterns of fireworks. The investigator was so intent on the readings he did not at first notice C'tair -- until the dark-haired man raced forward with the knife blade extended.

C'tair wanted to shout his hatred, scream out a challenge, but he only hissed instead. The Tleilaxu man's mouth dropped open in an O to reveal little white teeth like pearls. Before the investigator could cry out, C'tair had slashed his throat.

The man tumbled to the floor in a spray of blood, but C'tair caught the scanning device before it could strike the hard surface. He stared hungrily at the scanner, barely noticing his dying enemy's convulsions as a slowing lake of blood spread across the ornate, polished tiles of what formerly had been the Grand Palais of House Vernius.

C'tair felt no remorse whatsoever. He had already committed plenty of crimes for which he would be executed if the fanatics ever got hold of him. What did one more matter, so long as his conscience was clear? How many people had the Tleilaxu annihilated? How much Ixian history and culture had their takeover destroyed? How much blood did they already owe?

Moving quickly, C'tair dragged the body into the access shaft that led up to his secret quarters inside the solid rock, then cleaned up the leftover blood.

Exhausted, sticky with crusting red liquid, C'tair froze for a moment as a flash of his former life pierced his hardened conscience. Looking down at his bloody hands, he wondered what the delicate and lovely Kailea Vernius would think if she saw him now. Every time they had known they would see her, C'tair and his brother had taken extraordinary care to groom themselves properly, wear dashing clothes, add a dab of cologne.

He spared just an instant to mourn what the Tleilaxu had forced him to become .

. . and then wondered if Kailea had been changed as well, by whatever ordeals she had endured. He realized he didn't even know if she was still alive.

C'tair swallowed hard.

But he wouldn't survive long, either, if he didn't erase the evidence of his crime and disappear back into his hiding chamber.

The Tleilaxu investigator was surprisingly heavy for his size, suggesting a dense bone structure. He dumped the gray-skinned body into a nullentropy bin; the sun would burn out in the Ixian sky before the corpse began to rot.

After wiping himself clean and changing his clothes, C'tair set to work on the primary task at hand. He eagerly took the stolen scanner back to his workbench.

It was fairly easy to figure out how to operate the unit. Its controls were rudimentary: a black touch pad and an amber screen that identified machines and technological traces. Markings were in a Tleilaxu code language, which he deciphered easily by speaking the words into a decrypter he had smuggled into the shielded room during the first frantic days after the takeover.