Paul of Dune hod-1 Read online

  Paul saw Duke Leto watching Ilesa, who stood beside her father. “Those plants are an entirely appropriate wedding gift,” Leto said. “Arrange them in the grand hallway, to give us a bit of Ecaz on Caladan. While Ilesa lives here, they will remind her of her home.”

  Swordmaster Bludd directed the arrangement of the pots, then moved on to numerous other preparations for the spectacular wedding, while Duke Leto finally took time to get to know his bride-to-be.

  ***

  THE SEAS OF Caladan whispered against the boat as Leto sailed out of the harbor and up the coast, always remaining within sight of the misty shore. The weathersats had promised a fine forecast for the ensuing two days, so Leto would have no problem handling the sloop himself. At his request, Ilesa accompanied him, as if this trip was some form of diplomatic foray.

  “I’ve never been sailing before.” Leaning back, she drew a deep breath of moist air. Instead of looking toward the rugged shoreline, she stared out at the waves that stretched far, far to the edge of the world.

  “On Caladan, we are born and raised to be on the water,” he said. “Everyone learns to swim, sail, judge the tides, and watch the weather.”

  “Then I’ll have to learn those skills, since this is going to be my new home.”

  The sun broke through the low-lying fog, turning the sky an extraordinary, rich blue. The bright light bathed Ilesa’s face, and she closed her dark brown eyes. Leto found himself observing her. With her brunette hair, her demure behavior, and her hesitant laugh, she was very different from Jessica, even from Kailea.

  She leaned over the rail to the sloop’s prow, where the name VICTOR had been painted. “Leto, tell me about your son.”

  “Paul is a fine young man. Intelligent and brave. I’m very proud of him. You’ve met him yourself, and you can see his potential.”

  “And Victor, if you don’t mind talking about him? I only know that he died as a child.”

  Leto’s voice became harder. “The innocent victim of an assassination attempt against me. Victor… Rhombur… they suffered because of Kailea’s jealous anger.”

  Ilesa raised her delicately arched eyebrows. “It wasn’t a political matter, then?”

  “That might have been easier to bear. No, this was far more personal. Kailea and a supposedly loyal guard captain planted a bomb in a processional airship, but the explosion killed our son instead of me.” His voice hitched. “Our son! And it mangled Kailea’s brother Rhombur, while I survived intact.”

  Ilesa was looking at him with deep emotion. The boat’s deck swayed gently as they sailed onward. “And what happened to Kailea and this guard captain? I think my father would have staged a public execution — fast-growing birabu spikes to take root in his vital organs, perhaps.” Ilesa did not even sound queasy at the prospect.

  “Kailea threw herself from a high tower. But Goire… I did worse than execute him — I let him live. I sent him into exile so that he must face his crime for the rest of his days.”

  The two of them remained silent for a long moment, while Ilesa continued to stare out at the waves. “We are both scarred people, Leto,” she said. “I know you have deep hurts within you, and I think you are aware of mine. Are we brave enough to use those past tragedies to make us stronger… or should we give up and just be damaged?”

  Leto thought for a moment. “Ours isn’t a silly romance, Ilesa. We both know why we are to be married. This may not be what you expected for your life.”

  “On the contrary, Leto — this is exactly what I expected. It’s how I was raised. Once the Grummans killed Sanyá, I became the eldest Ecaz daughter. I have always been a name attached to a dowry. I never imagined that I’d fall in love with some brave man and then live happily ever after, like in a story. I am quite content with my circumstances.”

  Leto came to a conclusion, knowing it would be hard, but also realizing it was the best way. He hoped that eventually Ilesa might become much more — and much more tolerable — than just a political partner, which was all that Old Duke Paulus would have recommended.

  “I want you to like Jessica and Paul. And I want them to like you. It is your job to make that happen, Ilesa. Can you do it?”

  “As my Duke commands,” she said.

  11

  To the Emperor Shaddam: Please accept this gift from House Harkonnen on the occasion of your wedding to Lady Firenza Thorvald. This life-sized melange sculpture of a Harmonthep lion symbolizes not only the lion of House Corrino but also the enduring treasure of spice itself from the fief of Arrakis, which your father so generously bestowed on us. We are always your humble servants.

  —BARON VLADIMIR HARKONNEN

  The Emperor takes such a large share of our spice, he bleeds us dry.” The Baron sniffed, then nearly sneezed from the damnable, ever-present dust in the air of Arrakis. “For all the hells House Harkonnen endures on this awful world, we should keep a larger percentage of it.”

  “And after today we will, my Baron.” Piter de Vries gave him a smug smile. “Right under the noses of CHOAM inspectors.”

  Twelve years earlier, when House Harkonnen had been accused of skimming melange and falsifying the total tonnage reported to the Imperium, armies of auditors and Mentat accountants had poured over the Baron’s records, but the inspectors had found no significant irregularities. He had kept his nose clean for some time, though he continued to search for ways to stockpile spice secretly. Finally, de Vries had proposed an ingenious and viable idea to hide extra spice in plain sight, and now he had successfully implemented the scheme.

  The spice storage yard on the outskirts of Carthag was well guarded by Harkonnen troops and by scanner technology. Ten immense silos baked in the afternoon sunlight. Black attack ‘thopters flew sorties around the area, constantly looking for Fremen thieves who might be lurking out in the sands, waiting for any opportunity to raid Harkonnen supplies.

  He and de Vries rode a lift up the outside of the largest new silo.

  The lift came to a stop, and the Baron stepped out onto a high platform at the very top, from which he could survey the entire field. These silos held the spice stockpiles he was mandated to maintain, ready supplies to meet regular shipments to the Landsraad, the Guild, and CHOAM, as well as strategic reserves to guarantee the Emperor’s share. “All of the silos are constructed of the new stuff?”

  De Vries wiped a hand over his red-stained lips and spoke with clear pride in his voice. “Every last container has been reconstructed, including the railings and the platform on which we stand, out of polymer infused with melange. Ten extra long tons of spice not on any inventory, hidden within the structure of the outpost itself. And because of the legal spice within the silos, melange readings are naturally everywhere. No scanners would ever notice the difference. Even the slight cinnamon odor is to be expected. This is, after all, a spice storage yard. We are hiding the spice in plain sight.”

  The Baron passed a plump hand across a nearby safety rail, then licked his fingertips, but tasted nothing other than dust. “Ingenious, I am sure. But how are we to take this treasure with us, if it is molded into the structures themselves? CHOAM will notice if we dismantle and remove all of the silos.”

  Piter made a dismissive gesture. “We have a polymer separation mechanism, my Lord. At any time, we can quietly extract and exchange the extra spice with inert filler material, take the spice where we wish, and bank the profits without paying the Emperor’s exorbitant taxes. We can siphon off a cup of hidden melange or tons of it, whenever we please.”

  In an uncharacteristically jovial mood, the Baron patted the slender Mentat hard on the back. Casually, he reached into his jacket pocket and brought out a sweet melange cake. He tossed the wrapping off the edge and watched it flutter down, then strode back onto the lift as he chewed and swallowed.

  De Vries hurried to follow. “Perhaps we should discuss the upcoming Atreides wedding a bit more? Since the death of his son, Viscount Moritani has grown rather extreme.”

  When the
lift reached the ground, the Baron marched off toward his waiting vehicle. “I confess he makes me uneasy, Piter. He is so… volatile. I am reluctant to be too closely tied with House Moritani. It’s like having a rabid pet.”

  “You’re quite right to be concerned about him, my Lord.” De Vries smiled. “Nevertheless, I cannot deny that his urge toward violence works to our advantage now. Let me explain —”

  The Baron held up a hand as he entered his cool, sealed groundcar. “I don’t want to know the details, Piter. None of them. I want only your assurance that I won’t be disappointed. Nor will I be implicated.”

  “You have my promise on both counts, Baron. As a follow-up plan, I have already dispatched our own operatives, each of them carefully doctored to look like Grummans should they be discovered. We leave nothing to chance.”

  The groundcar sped toward the Harkonnen keep, while the Baron ate another sweet spice cake. He wiped his sticky fingers on his dusty pant leg. “Our hands must be entirely clean. No mistakes.”

  “None, my Lord. The Viscount is only too happy to claim responsibility. He seems to revel in the prospect of blood.”

  “As do I, Piter. But I do it privately.”

  12

  Good friends have a way of focusing our memories so that we can view even painful events in a positive light.

  —DUKE LETO ATREIDES

  The Duke’s request seemed cold and unfeeling, a slap in the face. He wanted her to take Ilesa under her wing, to be the other woman’s formal companion, and to work with the Castle Caladan and Ecazi planners on preparations for the wedding. Jessica needed all of her Bene Gesserit training to nod formally. “Yes, Leto. As you wish.”

  In spite of all her years of training, Jessica hated herself for her hurt feelings. She was a concubine sent under orders to become his companion, a business commodity, forced to give up the right to human emotions. She was happy with the love and devotion Leto had given her in the past, but she should not have expected it to last forever. Even so, the truth of it struck her to the core. Jessica was too smart to view this as a superficial or thoughtless slight. Leto knew exactly what he was requesting, and she forced herself to delve into his motivations in asking her to become Ilesa’s chaperone.

  Finally she pulled back the curtain of emotions to let in the light and see what the Duke really needed from her: He sincerely wanted Jessica and Ilesa to be friends, and his instructions were designed to force the two women to accept reality. He did not mean to cut Jessica out, or Paul, but rather to fold them in. It also sent just as clear a signal to the daughter of Ecaz, that Duke Leto considered his concubine an important part of his household. The two would have to do things together, while each played her separate role.

  When Jessica realized this, she explained it to Paul in order to help him understand. He would need that knowledge for later in life. “A wife and a lover are two different things. It is best if they can be the same person, but politics and love are as separate as the mind and the heart. Learn this lesson, Paul. As a Duke’s son, you may find yourself in the same situation someday.”

  And so Jessica and Ilesa did spend their days together, setting up the halls, guest rooms, and meeting chambers of Castle Caladan for the wedding. They established plans, looked over guest lists, discussed passages from the Orange Catholic Bible, and reviewed subtle variations of the wedding liturgies. Some ceremonies could take only a few minutes, while more traditional ones might drone on for endless hours. Jessica had even read of extreme instances where a wedding ceremony lasted longer than the marriage itself. Working together, Jessica and Ilesa crafted a beautifully complex and poetic ceremony.

  The household staff whispered surprised gossip at how well the two seemed to be getting along. At first Jessica considered her own cooperation just a necessary role to play, but one day she had looked across the table at Ilesa, and realized that she had come to think of Ilesa as a person, one with whom she could indeed become a friend.

  The young woman confided in her with a shy smile. “Once, there was a young man with curly, straw-colored hair and a grin. And oh, what a lovely body! He was a member of the forest guard. I used to watch him train out in the courtyard with Swordmaster Dinari.”

  “What was his name?” Jessica asked.

  “Vaerod.” An entire symphony of wistful emotions accompanied the spoken name. “We used to walk and talk together. We even kissed once.” Her smile faltered. “Then my father transferred him away, and I spent days listening to lectures about my responsibility to House Ecaz. The deaths of my sister and uncle hardened him. I became the hope and future for our family. I couldn’t be allowed to fall in love, or plan my own life.”

  She looked up, and Jessica thought the young woman seemed extremely innocent, but her words were insightful. “Why is it, do you suppose, that we noble daughters can’t take our own male concubines? If we are required to marry for political reasons, why can’t we choose someone else for love, as Duke Leto chose you?”

  Jessica searched for different ways to answer the question. “Did Duke Leto tell you he loves me?”

  Ilesa made a quick, dismissive sound. “Any fool can see that.”

  Jessica blinked. Perhaps I am not enough of a fool.

  “There are political necessities as to why Duke Leto will marry me. He will get what he wants with this alliance, and he still has you. I know this and accept it, but what about me? What about my Vaerod?”

  For so long, Jessica had thought only of why Leto had decided on this alliance. His blustery father had been adamant about the political nature of marriage, and Lady Helena Atreides had accepted her lot, too, although with great bitterness.

  With true compassion, Jessica said, “One of the first precepts taught at the Bene Gesserit School on Wallach IX is that the universe is not fair. Almost daily, I see evidence of that.”

  ***

  WHEN THE IXIAN bearing the guests from House Vernius landed at the spaceport, Paul accompanied Thufir Hawat and Gurney Halleck to meet them. Thufir and Gurney had already told him much about Prince Rhombur.

  The frigate’s ramp extended and guards marched out, carrying purple-and-copper pennants emblazoned with a helix symbol. Then three figures appeared as though they were making a grand entrance. A young woman with a trim body, short brown hair, and large eyes held the hand of a boy with thick coppery hair, a squarish face, and a shy formal demeanor. Paul could see echoes of the mother’s features in the boy.

  Behind them came a hulking man whose mechanical movements somehow carried a calculated grace. Rhombur’s face was scarred; his arm was obviously prosthetic. The flesh ended at his neck, fused with polymer wrappings. He raised an artificial hand in greeting. The smile that filled his ravaged expression was genuine. “Gurney Halleck! You still look uglier than I do.” He took three thudding steps down the ramp. “And Thufir Hawat — still bearing the weight of the universe on your shoulders, I see.”

  A fast groundcar pulled up, and Duke Leto sprang out wearing an exuberant grin. “Rhombur, old friend! I’m so pleased you could come.”

  The Ixian nobleman chuckled. “You came to my wedding, Leto. How could I not come to yours?”

  “I couldn’t avoid yours, Rhombur — it was held at Castle Caladan.”

  With a strange delicateness to his flexing fingers, Rhombur took the woman beside him by the wrist. “You remember Tessia, of course.”

  Leto laughed. “I’m not quite senile yet. And this is your son?” He extended a hand to the copper-haired boy.

  “Yes, Leto — meet Bronso. He has been longing to leave the caverns on Ix to see the oceans that I loved so much.” The damaged man lowered his voice. “And he is anxious to meet Paul. Is this your son?”

  Paul stepped forward. “Pleased to meet you, Rhombur. Or should I call you Prince?”

  “You could call me your godfather, boy.” Rhombur thrust his son close to Paul. “You two will be great friends, just like your father and I were when we were younger.”

  “M
aybe we should initiate an exchange, as our fathers did,” Leto said. “Send Paul to Ix and have Bronso here on Caladan. It certainly changed my life.”

  Prince Rhombur appeared somewhat troubled. “Ix is not quite what you remember, Leto. Under my father, it was a spectacular world, but the Tleilaxu occupation wounded our spirit and caused great damage. Even though House Vernius rules again, some things have changed forever. We have always been more of a business than a noble House, and the technocracy has grown more powerful. I have less influence over decisions than I used to.”

  “Spreadsheets and quotas command Ix now,” Tessia added, not shy about speaking up for her husband. “Increasing production at the expense of decreasing humanity.”

  Another man now emerged from the frigate — smallish in stature and thin, with a sallow face and the diamond tattoo of a Suk doctor on his forehead. His long hair was bound in a single silver ring. He bowed formally. “I brought all the medical equipment that may be needed. Prince Rhombur’s cyborg enhancements function quite well, though I still monitor them regularly.”

  “Dr. Wellington Yueh, you are always welcome here. I owe you my life, and Rhombur owes you his. If I could find a doctor as dedicated, I would keep him as my personal physician on Caladan.”

  Yueh seemed embarrassed, but Tessia interrupted before he could answer. “Politics, medical doctors, complaints? Is this the way House Atreides prepares for a wedding?”

  “Tessia’s right,” Rhombur agreed. “We shouldn’t stand around in the noise and heat of the spaceport. Take us back to Castle Caladan. I’m certain my wife wants to see Jessica again, and we’re all anxious to meet your bride-to-be.”