Dune: House Atreides (63 page)

"Go along with him for the moment. Then through a . . ." Fenring smiled, selected just the right word. " . . . misunderstanding . . . old Elrood will be cremated before they can cut him open."

"I see," Shaddam said, with sudden understanding. Then, to Yungar, he said,

"Send for your associate and complete your autopsy. My father will be moved to the infirmary, where you may complete the procedure."

"A day will be needed to bring in the other doctor," the Suk said. "You can arrange to keep the body chilled?"

Shaddam smiled politely. "It shall be done."

"By your leave then, Sire," the Suk said, bowing and retreating hastily. The doctor hurried away with a rustling of medical robes. His long steel-gray hair dangled in its ponytail, clasped by a silver ring.

When they were alone, Fenring said with a crafty smile, "It was either that or kill the bastard, and we didn't dare risk that."

An hour later, through an unfortunate series of events, Emperor Elrood IX was reduced to ashes in the Imperial crematorium, and his remains were misplaced. A Court orderly and two medical attendants paid for the mistake with their lives.

Memory and History are two sides of the same coin. In time, however, History tends to slant itself toward a favorable impression of events, while Memory is doomed to preserve the worst aspects.

-LADY HELENA ATREIDES,

her personal journals

Father, I was not ready.

The nighttime seas on Caladan were rough, and wind-driven rain pelted the windows of the Castle's east tower. Another sort of storm raged within Duke Leto, though: concern for the future of his troubled House.

He had avoided this duty for too long . . . for months, in fact. On this isolated evening, he wanted nothing more than to sit in a fire-warmed room in the company of Rhombur and Kailea. Instead, he had decided at last to go through some of the Old Duke's personal items.

Storage chests containing his father's things were brought in and lined up along one wall. Servants had stoked up the flaming logs in the fireplace to a fine blaze, and a crock of mulled wine filled the room with the spicy scents of terrameg and a bit of expensive melange. Four small glowglobes provided enough light to see by.

Kailea had found a fur cloak in storage, taken it as her own, and wrapped herself just to keep warm -- but it also made her look stunning. Despite the radical changes in her life, how far she had fallen from her dreams of sparkling at the Imperial Court, the Vernius daughter was a survivor. Through sheer force of will Kailea seemed to bend the environment around herself, making the best of things.

Despite the political drawbacks of any romance with the renegade family, Duke Leto -- now ruler of his Great House -- found himself even more attracted to her. But he remembered his father's primary admonition: Never marry for love, or it will bring our House down. Paulus Atreides had hammered that into his son as much as any other leadership training. Leto knew he could never shrug off the Old Duke's command; it was too much a part of him.

Still, he was drawn to Kailea, though thus far he hadn't found the courage to express his feelings to her. He thought she knew, even so; Kailea had a strong, logical mind. He saw it in her emerald eyes, in the curve of her catlike mouth, in the contemplative looks she gave him when she thought he wouldn't notice.

With Leto's permission, Rhombur searched curiously through some of the massive storage chests, looking for old wartime mementos of the friendship between Duke Paulus and Dominic Vernius. Reaching deep into one chest, he brought out an embroidered cape and unfolded it. "What's this? I never saw your father wear it."

Leto studied the design and knew instantly what it was -- the hawk of House Atreides embracing the Richesian lamp of knowledge. "I believe that's his wedding cloak, from when he and my mother were married."

"Oh," Rhombur said, his voice trailing off in embarrassment. "Sorry." He folded the cape and stuffed it back into the box.

Shaking his head, Leto took a deep breath. He'd known they would encounter many such memory land mines, and he would just have to endure them. "My father didn't choose to die and leave me in this position, Rhombur. My mother made her own choices. She could have been a valued advisor to me. Under other circumstances I would have welcomed her assistance and wise counsel. But instead . . ." He sighed and looked bitterly over at Kailea. "As I said, she made her own choices."

Only Leto and the warrior Mentat knew the truth about Helena's complicity in the murder, and it was a secret Leto vowed to carry with him to his grave. With the death of the stablemaster during interrogation, Duke Leto Atreides had fresh, bright blood on his hands -- his first, but certainly not his last. Not even Rhombur or Kailea suspected the truth.

He had sent his mother out of Castle Caladan with two of her servants, chosen by him. For her "rest and well-being," Lady Helena had been taken to the Eastern Continent where she would live under primitive conditions with the Sisters in Isolation, a retrogressive religious commune. Haughtily, but without bothering to demand explanations for her son's behavior, Helena had accepted her banishment.

Though he put up a strong front, Leto privately mourned the loss of his mother, and was astounded to find himself without both parents in the space of a few months. But Helena had committed the most abhorrent act of betrayal against her own family, her own House, and he knew he could never forgive her, could never see her again. Killing her was out of the question; the thought had barely crossed his mind. She was, after all, his mother, and he was not like her.

Besides, getting her out of his sight was a practical matter, for he'd been left with vast holdings to manage, and the welfare of the citizens of Caladan had priority. He needed to get down to the business of running House Atreides.

From a chest of items, Rhombur brought out a set of old-fashioned handmade playing cards and some of the Old Duke's awards, including military badges of honor, a chipped knife, and a small bloodstained banner. Leto discovered seashells, a colored scarf, an unsigned love poem, a lock of auburn hair (not Helena's color), then a lock of blonde hair, and enameled brass armbands designed for a woman, but he had no idea how to explain the items.

He knew his father had taken mistresses, though Paulus had brought none of them into the Castle as bound concubines. He'd merely enjoyed himself, and had no doubt showered the women with trinkets or fabrics or sweetmeats.

Leto ignored those items and closed the heavy lid of the box. Duke Paulus was entitled to his own memories, his past, and his secrets. None of these mementos had any bearing on the fortunes of House Atreides. He needed to concern himself with politics and business. Thufir Hawat, other Court advisors, and even Prince Rhombur were doing their best to guide him, but Leto felt like a newborn, having to learn everything from scratch.

As the rain continued outside, Kailea poured a mug of the mulled wine and handed it to Leto, then drew two more for herself and her brother. Thoughtfully the Duke sipped it, savoring the spicy flavor. Warmth seeped into his bones, and he smiled when he thanked her.

She looked down at the odd paraphernalia and adjusted one of the gold combs in her deep copper hair. Leto noticed that her lower lip was trembling. "What is it, Kailea?"

She took a deep breath and looked at her brother, then at Leto. "I'll never have a chance to go through my mother's things like this. Not from the Grand Palais, not even the few precious items she took with her when we fled."

Rhombur came forward and held his sister, but she continued to look at Leto.

"My mother had keepsakes from the Emperor himself, treasures he gave her when she left his service. She had so many memories, so many stories left to tell me. I didn't spend enough time listening to her when she was alive."

"It'll be all right," Rhombur said, trying to console her. "We'll make our own memories."

"And we'll make them remember us," Kailea said, her voice suddenly brittle.

Feeling sick inside, and deeply weary, Leto rubbed the ducal signet ring on his finger. It still felt strange and heavy there, but he knew he would never remove it until someday far in the future, when he would pass it to his own son to continue the traditions of House Atreides.

Outside, the storm flung more rain at the walls and windows of the ancient stone Castle, while the sea shushed a foamy lullaby against the cliffs far below.

Caladan felt very large and overwhelming around him, and Leto seemed incredibly small. Though it was still an inhospitable night, when the young Duke exchanged smiles with Kailea and Rhombur, he felt warm and comfortable in his home.

LETO LEARNED OF the Emperor's death as he and three attendants were struggling to hang the mounted Salusan bull's-head in the dining hall. Workers used ropes and pulleys to haul the monstrous trophy onto a spot on the previously unadorned, highly polished walls.

A grim Thufir Hawat stood by, watching with hands clasped behind his back.

Absently, the Mentat touched the long scar on his leg, a souvenir of the time when he had rescued a much younger Paulus from another rampaging bull. This time, however, he had not acted swiftly enough . . . .

Kailea shuddered as she looked up at the ugly creature. "It's going to be hard to eat in this hall, with that thing staring down at us. I can still see the blood on its horns."

Leto regarded the bull's-head with an appraising eye. "I see it as a reminder that I must never let my guard down. Even a dumb animal -- albeit with the interference of human conspirators -- can conquer the leader of a Great House of the Landsraad." He felt a shiver. "Think of that lesson, Kailea."

"I'm afraid that's not a very comforting thought," she murmured, her green eyes bright with unshed tears. Blinking to clear her vision, she turned back to her own activities.

With a ridulian crystal report folder open before her on the table, she devoted her energies to studying the household accounts. Using what she had learned in the Orb Office on Ix, Kailea analyzed the income streams for Atreides holdings in order to determine how work and productivity were distributed on Caladan's continents and seas. She and Leto had been discussing the matter in depth, despite their youth. The exiled Kailea Vernius had an excellent head for business, Leto was delighted to discover.

"Being a good Duke is not all swordplay and bullfighting," Thufir Hawat had told him once, long before all the latest troubles and challenges. "Management of little things is often a more difficult battle." For some reason the statement had stuck in Leto's mind, and now he was discovering the wisdom of the words . .

. .

When the Imperial messenger marched into the dining hall, fresh off a Guild Heighliner, he stood tall, formally dressed in scarlet-and-gold Imperial colors.

"I request an audience with Duke Leto Atreides."

Leto, Rhombur, and Kailea all froze, remembering the horrible news they'd received the last time a crier had entered the great receiving room. Leto prayed that nothing had happened to the fugitive Dominic Vernius in his continued flight. But this official messenger wore House Corrino colors, and looked as if he had delivered his announcement a dozen times already.

"It is my duty to announce to all members of the Great and Minor Houses of the Landsraad that the Padishah Emperor Elrood Corrino IX has died, struck down by an extended illness in the one hundred thirty-eighth year of his reign. May history fondly remember his long rule, and may his soul find eternal peace."

Leto stepped back, astounded. One of the workers almost let the mounted bull's-head slip from its position on the wall, but Hawat shouted for the man to attend to his tasks.

The Emperor had been a fixture in the galaxy for two normal lifetimes. Elrood lived on Kaitain, surrounded by guards, protected from all threats, and heavily addicted to the geriatric spice. Leto had never considered that the old man might die someday, though in the past year or two he'd heard that Elrood had been growing increasingly frail.

Leto turned to the messenger, nodded formally. "Please give Crown Prince Shaddam my condolences. When is the funeral of state to be held? House Atreides will attend, of course."

"Not necessary," the Courier replied in a crisp voice. "At the request of the throne, there will only be a small private ceremony for the immediate family."

"I see."

"However, Shaddam Corrino, soon to be crowned Padishah Emperor of the Known Universe, Shaddam IV, graciously requests your appearance, and your oath of fealty, when he formally ascends to the Golden Lion Throne. Details of the coronation ceremony are being arranged."

Leto glanced briefly at Thufir Hawat and replied, "It shall be done."

With a curt nod, the messenger said, "When the protocol has been set and all schedules are made, proper word will be brought to Caladan." He bowed, sweeping his scarlet-and-gold cape around his arms, and spun about with a neat click of his shoes. He marched back out of the hall, bound for a flitter that would take him back to the spaceport for his trip to the next Imperial planet, where he would deliver his report again.

"Well, uh . . . that was good news," Rhombur said sourly. His face was pale but hard. He stood quietly in the doorway, absorbing the information. "If it hadn't been for the Emperor's petty jealousy and intervention, my family could have recovered from the crisis on Ix. The Landsraad would have sent help."

"Elrood didn't want us to recover," Kailea said, glancing up from her accounting records. "I'm just sorry my mother couldn't have lived to hear those tidings."

Leto's lips turned upward in a smile of guarded optimism. "Wait, this gives us an unexpected opportunity. Think about it. Elrood alone bore personal animosity against House Vernius. He and your mother had their painful past, which we know to be the true reason behind his refusal to erase the blood price on your family. It was personal."

Standing under the bull's-head, Hawat looked closely at Leto. He listened in silence, waiting to see what his new Duke would suggest.