The Winds of Dune (27 page)

The two men burst into the Grand Palais, surprising Jessica and Leto. Gurney got the words out first, “We have a new lead on the boys, my Lords! ‘Those who search long enough, and with great faith, shall be rewarded.’ ”

Duncan added, “But we need to leave immediately, before they move on again. I’ve checked the Spacing Guild schedules—we can get to Balut within three or four days. I wish it could be sooner, but we can’t change Heighliner schedules.”

Rhombur summoned his Suk doctor. “Yueh, you’re coming with us. If anything’s happened to either of the boys, I need you there to help them.”

After calling on Ixian officials to arrange for immediate transport on the next Guildship bound for Balut, the cyborg Earl grudgingly sent a message to Bolig Avati. “I have to let him know that I’ll be away from Ix.”

Leto did not try to hide his concern or skepticism. “I don’t trust that man, Rhombur.”

“Vermillion Hells, I don’t trust the whole damned Technocrat Council! But when I’m away from Ix, Avati’s the de facto administrator here.”

“If they hadn’t ruined your bargaining position with the Guild inspector,” Jessica pointed out, “we could have had a clear answer days ago.”

“Uh, I’m more worried about what they might do while I’m gone. The technocrats could take over Ix with a few pen strokes, and a lot less bloodshed than the Tleilaxu did.”

“Then maybe we should take some preemptive action,” Leto said.

When he arrived, the Council leader sketched a sloppy bow. “Preparing to leave again, my Lord Vernius? I understand completely! Family matters must take priority over running a planet. Ix will be in good hands in your absence.”

Leto spoke up in a crisp tone, as if Avati were not there. “Rhombur, I can offer to station House Atreides troops here during your absence, to help maintain stability. With your blessing, we’ll leave Duncan and Gurney here to arrange it. That way, Vernii will remain in good shape while we’re gone—and your enemies will not perceive any weakness.”

Avati showed clear alarm. “There is no need for an offworlder army. Ix has no instabilities! And no enemies.”

“It’s better to be sure,” Rhombur said with a smile. “The Duke is correct—without me here, there’s only a proxy Council to monitor administrative details. Other Houses may see Ix as an undefended prize. Certainly you remember how easily the Tleilaxu took over when we weren’t prepared? Who knows what might happen in my absence?” He was pleased to twist the knife. “Gurney Halleck and Duncan Idaho are renowned throughout the Landsraad for their bravery and strength. Yes, Leto, have your men send word to Caladan. A battalion or two should suffice.”

“A battalion?” Avati cried.

Gurney did not look keen to be left behind. “But, my Lord, shouldn’t we accompany you to see that the boys are safe?”

“If my son and Bronso are indeed on Balut, we’ll retrieve them without any trouble. You and Duncan can do more here . . . for my friend Rhombur.”

The Earl could not hide his obvious relief. “Thank you, Leto! And
Counselor Avati, you are to give your full cooperation to the Duke’s representatives and welcome his troops when they arrive.”

The technocrat squirmed, but nodded.

Leto issued crisp orders. “Duncan and Gurney, send a high-priority courier to Caladan and have Thufir Hawat dispatch a security force as soon as he receives the message. Ix will be safe, if I have anything to do with it. That’s what friends are for.”

Everyone has a history. The question is, how much of that history really occurred the way it is documented?

—from
The Life of Muad’Dib, Volume 2
, by the
PRINCESS IRULAN

B
alut’s Theater of Shards was so stunning that the architecture threatened to overshadow the performance. Paul and Bronso stood outside the fluted gates, dizzied by the sight of millions of reflecting prisms. In such a breathtaking venue, who would want to look at mere acrobats and dancers? With its soaring crystalline towers, angled planes, and intersecting mirrors and lenses, the building seemed more optical illusion than physical structure. Paul thought he could
smell
the light in the air.

Settling in on the planet, having worked out all the details for their main performance on Balut in a week’s time, the Jongleur leader got down to business. Rather than being awed by the celebrated Theater of Shards, Rheinvar worried about possible snags in the complex stage assembly, lighting problems posed by the nonperpendicular planes of the walls, complications caused by tall turrets that would either magnify or attenuate the normal acoustics. He needed to see the inside for himself.

With a terse all-business demeanor, Governor Alra Kio opened the crystalline gates to give Rheinvar full access to the theater. “I intend to make the formal announcement of my betrothal to Preto Heiron at your performance, when I have a large audience. I ask only that your
performance be perfect,” she said with a hint of a smile. “Make sure your troupe gives the most impeccable show of their careers.”

“That’s all?” Rheinvar asked, half amused.

“That’s all.” Though plump and known to be of a mature age, Governor Kio had a youthful body and complexion, undoubtedly retained through heavy, and costly, consumption of melange. Her fiancé was much younger.

The Jongleur leader removed his sparkling white top hat. “What the dance troupe does is in my purview, but I leave the politics to you, Madam Governor.”

She swept away, returning to her offices and leaving Rheinvar, Paul, and Bronso to walk the venue and assess what adjustments might need to be made. As the Jongleur leader moved along, he carried a crystalpad projector that displayed blueprints and acoustical projections of the performing area so he could map the arrangement of his great stage.

The three entered the core of the arena, where the beauty surpassed even that of the ornate exterior. Governor Kio and her young fiancé would occupy seats on a sweeping, separate balcony at the focal point of the reflected light projectors and sound-wave generators.

“It’s not often you find a place whose real substance meets or exceeds stories of its flash and dazzle.” With quick, deft motions, Rheinvar made notations on the crystalpad, marking where mirrors needed to be installed, along with the correct positioning for laser projectors and amplifiers.

“This Theater of Shards was designed and built some fifty years ago by a famous architect . . . whose name I forget now. One of Balut’s wealthiest ruling families bankrolled the entire project, and the details were kept highly confidential. No one but the architect himself had the complete blueprints.”

Rheinvar lowered his voice and used now-familiar Jongleur tricks to draw the boys into his story. “But
then
, on the night of the grand opening, the wealthy patriarch of the ruling family was found murdered at the hands of the architect. A day later, the architect also died mysteriously, said to have been the victim of angry members of the noble family.”

“Quite the drama,” Bronso chuckled. “Sounds like fodder for another play.”

Rheinvar continued in his rich professional voice. “Some say that this Theater of Shards contains a powerful secret known only to the nobleman and the architect. That’s the story, anyway. I can’t say whether or not it’s true—but it should be.”

Paul looked around the arena, studying the angles, planes, prisms, and magnifiers. He gestalted and analyzed each detail, as his mother had taught him to do. The Theater was a monumental experiment in physics, optics, and harmonics.

Bronso stared all around. “The engineers of Ix would have a grand time deconstructing the angles and focal points here.”

Rheinvar finished making notations and handed Paul his crystalpad projector. “Here’s the plan, boys. You have traction pads, hooks, adhesives, and guidance calipers. I need you to hang enhancement mirrors there, there, and there. Once you’re finished, run a tracer beam to make sure the surfaces are aligned, then set up secondary stations at the five points noted on the pad.”

While Bronso seemed excited by the responsibility, Paul said, “Don’t you want more seasoned stage technicians to take care of this?”

“Others may be more seasoned, but you two are agile and fearless.”

“I am, at least.” Bronso sent a teasing look toward Paul.

“I’m the accurate and meticulous one,” Paul countered. “So we make a good team. Between the two of us, we’ll get it done, sir.”

Hatred should not be so easy, nor forgiveness so difficult
.

—
EARL RHOMBUR VERNIUS

T
he groundcar sped from the starport toward Balut’s capital city. In the backseat, Jessica could only hope that they would arrive in time. If Paul and Bronso had slipped away again, if the information turned out to be a false lead, she would feel crushed . . . and she knew what it would do to Leto.

Beside her, the Duke kept his outward emotions tightly in check, but long familiarity allowed her to read his concerns. He was a rigid man who had endured many tragedies that covered his emotions with hard scars, like those on the body of a seasoned warrior.

Jessica spoke gently. “Once we see Paul, we can find out what he did, and why.”

In Leto’s reply, she heard the undertone of anger that masked his worry. “I will be interested to hear his explanation.”

Leto did not often show overt warmth toward Paul, maintaining what he considered to be a seemly distance, so that his son could better prepare to be Caladan’s next Duke. But the formality did not fool Jessica. Ever since Bronso and Paul had run away, Leto had been worried sick, distraught even to consider what he would do if he lost his son. Only those closest to the Duke could see the anger—much less look past it to his fear.

Earl Rhombur hunched his cyborg body on a wide seat across from
them with Dr. Yueh squeezed in next to him. Rhombur felt an intense anxiety, with an added layer of guilt, since he was sure that his own words had driven Bronso away.

As Leto stared impatiently ahead, the cyborg Earl said, “Don’t scold your boy too much, Leto. Vermillion Hells, I’d bet that Paul did it out of a sense of honor, to protect Bronso. We did make them swear to watch out for each other. You would have done the same for me, when we were younger.”

“We weren’t so foolish as those two.”

Rhombur chuckled. “Oh, we had our moments.”

The vehicle took them directly to a grassy park expanse lined with Balutian maples and oaks. A number of military vehicles encircled an area where large tents had been set up, and uniformed soldiers strutted about, carrying their weapons. Behind the cordon, restless Jongleur performers stood around, worried about all the fuss.

“Governor Kio has really taken this seriously,” Leto said.

“When I communicated with her, I had only to say that my mother was from the Balut noble family. Lady Shando is still revered here.” His scarred face held an anxious smile. “The Governor promised to prevent
any
members of the Jongleur troupe from slipping away.”