The Winds of Dune (67 page)

She turned and departed, letting the amazon guards seal the cell behind her, leaving Bronso alone with his thoughts. She had wanted to intimidate him and make him fear his fate, but he knew that a cringing, whimpering death for Paul’s greatest critic would only serve to weaken the impact of his writings. He could still help Paul a while longer. He vowed to himself that he would march forth proudly and face the deathstill with his head held high. He was sure Lady Jessica would be watching.

Outsiders call some of our procedures “Fremen cruelties,” without understanding what we do. Consider the huanui, the deathstill that enables the tribe to recover and save moisture from those who have died. On a planet where water is the most precious of all commodities, how can this possibly be called cruel? It is practical
.

—
The Stilgar Commentaries

B
ronso of Ix . . . infamous traitor . . . the man who tried to paint Muad’Dib as a man instead of a god. Though she knew the true heroism of what he had done, Jessica could not save him.

But she could not just abandon him, either.

Alone, she strode into the Arrakeen prison complex, down brightly lit corridors, tunnels, and wings protected by guards and yellow-robed priest-warriors. She had dressed herself carefully in the hooded black robe of a Fremen Sayyadina, covering the lower portion of her face with a nezhoni scarf, leaving only her eyes exposed. As she walked, the voice of Duncan Idaho came to her through a concealed earpiece. “At the next door, the entry code is 10191.”

The year we arrived on Arrakis
, she thought. An oddly easy number to remember. She wondered if they were hoping someone would try to break Bronso out, as had happened before. More wheels, schemes, and plots . . . more possibilities. Paul would have wanted that.

“Thank you, Duncan,” she subvocalized. “Thank you for trusting me.”

He did not answer. So many things going on behind the scenes, so many secret motives. . . .

During the uproar following Bronso’s capture on the Carthag
rooftop, after the military teams had rushed into Arrakeen in triumph, Jessica had met Gurney and Duncan on the loud and bustling landing field outside the Citadel’s perimeter. ’Thopters rose and landed, and service personnel rushed about. Firmly bound and gagged, Bronso had already been whisked into the highly secure levels of the death cells. The prisoner had put up no struggle; he had completed his mission and would no longer fight.

Jessica could tell immediately by their expressions that something had happened between Duncan and Gurney, and she wondered if the ghola had recognized her on the rooftop. When she faced the two men on the landing field, the tense silence had dragged out until finally Jessica broke it. Gurney already knew the answers, but now it seemed that Duncan held her fate in his hands.

She decided to take yet another gamble, hoping that this was more than a Tleilaxu ghola. “Duncan, if you are the real Duncan Idaho, hear me.
Paul
asked me to help Bronso if I could, in utmost secrecy.” She could have used Voice to manipulate him, but she needed this to be Duncan’s own, honest decision. “I can explain Paul’s reasons, prove it to you. Or is my word enough?”

She saw him struggling to control the questions that reeled through his Mentat mind. He regarded her for a long moment with his metal eyes. “Your word is sufficient, my Lady.” He bowed, sweeping one arm across the front. When he straightened and looked at her, his expression clear and readable, she felt convinced that this was the real
Duncan Idaho
, and he would never let his loyalty falter. . . .

Now, as she made her way through the prison levels, Jessica focused on completing what she had to do. She tapped the appropriate numbers onto the keypad of the sealed door, and a heavy barrier ground away on tracks, closing itself again after she had stepped through.

She had visited here once before, to free Irulan from her own death cell. Mohiam had also been held in a place like this before Stilgar executed her. Bronso, though, was on an even more secure level.

Duncan’s voice guided her to the appropriate confinement section, but the additional security already told her that this was Bronso’s cell. She let her scarf fall away and shrugged back her hood to reveal the gray-flecked bronze hair, and summoned her presence and majesty, as if she were a Jongleur performer.
I am the Lady Jessica, the Mother of Muad’Dib
.

The amazon guards and the angry-eyed Qizaras saw her, recognized her, and immediately straightened. “My Lady!”

Now she did use Voice, letting the intonations of her words as well as the commanding stance of her body push the guards and priests into cooperation. “I will speak to this man who has insulted my son. He has blasphemed against Muad’Dib, and he has much to answer for. He shall answer
to me
.”

The priests seemed resistant to Voice, because four of them crowded together, blocking her access. One said, “We have strict orders that the prisoner is to be allowed no visitors before his execution. No food or water. Nothing at all.”

Jessica let her anger hint that if she grew any more displeased with them, she would order their executions. All of them. “Should I wait and speak to him
after
he has been executed?” They looked as if they might all wither at once. “I demand a moment of privacy with this Bronso of Ix. I invoke the desert tradition. It is my right to face him.”

The same priest said, “He is a dangerous prisoner, my Lady. We should have at least two guards accompany you—”

“I once bested Stilgar himself.” Her look silenced the priest. “I have nothing to fear from this pathetic man.”

At a signal from the priest, one of the amazon guards unsealed the door and allowed her inside. “Close it! I don’t need an eager audience of gossipers.” The woman left her alone in the death cell with Bronso.

Although the haggard, copper-haired man was clearly weak and thirsty, he sat straight, as if supported by the throne of House Vernius. It struck her what a tragic and lonely figure Bronso was. And yet he smiled as he recognized her. “I hoped we would have a chance to talk before the end, my Lady.”

She silenced him with a quick hand signal, then reached into her robes and removed a small device, which she activated. The air pressure seemed to change in the room, and a subsonic thrumming vibrated at the roots of her teeth. “A blanketing field. Now we can speak in complete privacy.” She smiled at the device. “It’s of Ixian manufacture. Alia has many Ixian devices that have never been tested, and I’ve . . . borrowed some of them.”

“Oh, I recognize that one,” he said with a rueful smile, then looked
up at her with red-shot eyes. “But even taking such precautions, you come here at great peril.”

“You’ve risked much more over the years, Bronso. But don’t worry—I have a legitimate reason to be here.”

Bronso understood. “They think you have come to spit on me?”

“Ah, but on Dune, that would be no insult.”

He just shook his head. “There is nothing you can do for me. I need you to be free, to remain beyond suspicion. I need you to be sure my mother is safe.”

“She will be, Bronso. I promise.”

He nodded. “I will not reveal our relationship, or Paul’s plan, no matter how much torture they inflict upon me. If this execution makes me a martyr, well, then even more people will read my treatises. My writings will take on a life of their own . . . and some readers will believe what I say. The truth is a powerful weapon.”

Jessica took a step closer. “So, Alia has told you the manner of your execution?”

“Huanui deathstill, while I’m still alive. I don’t imagine it will be very pleasant.”

With a sudden move, Jessica brought up one of her hands, revealing a silver needle in her grasp. “Bronso, this is the high-handed enemy, the gom jabbar. One prick of the poison on this tip and your miseries will be over—quick and painless.”

He didn’t flinch. “Alia has sent you as my executioner, then, just as she earlier used Stilgar? It’s to be you? That needle would certainly silence me. You’d have nothing to worry about.”

“
I
chose this, Bronso, as a kindness to you, and a reward for your bravery. The others will see it as the act of an outraged mother. Not even Alia would dare punish me for it.” She held the needle only centimeters from his neck.

Though Bronso was obviously not afraid of the needle, he shook his head. “I thank you from the bottom of my heart, but I cannot let this happen—not only for you, but for my own legacy. Remember, I worked with the Jongleurs. What sort of finale would this be, a quiet and painless death, witnessed only by you? No, I prefer playing my part to the end. Let me finish this show and leave the audience satisfied. You must permit this, my Lady—for the Atreides name, for
Paul
.” He
pushed her hand away, and she lowered the gom jabbar. “Give me a last moment of dignity and worth. I am protecting Paul’s legacy the way I was supposed to watch out for him when we were just boys. By holding to that promise, I honor not only him, but my father.”

Jessica had not expected him to accept her offer. “Then take what comfort I can offer you.” After secreting the deadly needle in a fold of her robe, she produced a small flask. “I brought water.”

Trusting her completely, he drained the flask, sighed. “I won’t need that after tomorrow. But thank you.”

When he was off guard, she embraced him. “I’m grateful to you, Bronso. And so sorry.” In doing so, she brushed the back of his neck with a different needle, leaving just a trace of potent residual chemical—another one of the new Ixian toys that the technocrats gave to Alia in hopes of impressing her. Bronso didn’t even notice. As they drew apart, she thought,
I’ve done everything I can for you. Paul’s good and loyal friend, and a true patriot of the Imperium
.

Then Bronso said, “Before you leave, slap me hard across the face. For appearances sake.”

She concealed the Ixian device in her robe and switched off the blanketing field, then resurrected her infuriated demeanor. “Guards!”

The door burst open as if the amazons expected to find her under attack. Before they could step into the cell, Jessica swung her open hand, striking Bronso’s face with such force that he reeled to the side. He pressed a hand against his throbbing cheek.

She sneered at Bronso and spoke for the benefit of her observers. “When you feel the pain of the deathstill, think of me. I have nothing more to say to the prisoner.”

I have seen enough acrobats and dancers. I have seen amazing pyrotechnic shows and solido-hologram illusions. I have seen audiences swoon, scream, and cheer. But the greatest spectacle of all is Life—and Death
.

—
RHEINVAR THE MAGNIFICENT

A
t the hour of Bronso’s execution, Lady Jessica sat on a high observation platform, gazing down at the teeming crush of humanity in the square, the hawkers and gawkers, the unseemly carnival atmosphere. Next to the observation dais stood the ominous death-still, portending a slow and horrific end for the despised traitor. This time, there was no chance that the victim was a mere Face Dancer in disguise.