Dune (26 page)

The disturbance was loud and incoherent.

Is this the Harkonnen attack?
she wondered.

She slipped out of bed, checked the screen monitors to see where her family was. The screen showed Paul asleep in the deep cellar room they'd hastily converted to a bedroom for him. The noise obviously wasn't penetrating to his quarters. There was no one in the Duke's room, his bed was unrumpled. Was he still at the field C.P.?

There were no screens yet to the front of the house.

Jessica stood in the middle of her room, listening.

There was one shouting, incoherent voice. She heard someone call for Dr. Yueh. Jessica found a robe, pulled it over her shoulders, pushed her feet into slippers, strapped the crysknife to her leg.

Again, a voice called out for Yueh.

Jessica belted the robe around her, stepped into the hallway. Then the thought struck her:
What if Leto's hurt?

The hall seemed to stretch out forever under her running feet. She turned through the arch at the end, dashed past the dining hall and down the passage to the Great Hall, finding the place brightly lighted, all the wall suspensors glowing at maximum.

To her right near the front entry, she saw two house guards holding Duncan Idaho between them. His head lolled forward, and there was an abrupt, panting silence to the scene.

One of the house guards spoke accusingly to Idaho: “You see what you did? You woke the Lady Jessica.”

The great draperies billowed behind the men, showing that the front door remained open. There was no sign of the Duke or Yueh. Mapes stood to one side staring coldly at Idaho. She wore a long brown robe with serpentine design at the hem. Her feet were pushed into unlaced desert boots.

“So I woke the Lady Jessica,” Idaho muttered. He lifted his face toward the ceiling, bellowed: “My sword was firs' blooded on Grumman!”

Great Mother! He's drunk!
Jessica thought.

Idaho's dark, round face was drawn into a frown. His hair, curling like the fur of a black goat, was plastered with dirt. A jagged rent in his tunic exposed an expanse of the dress shirt he had worn at the dinner party earlier.

Jessica crossed to him.

One of the guards nodded to her without releasing his hold on Idaho. “We didn't know what to do with him, my Lady. He was creating a disturbance out front, refusing to come inside. We were afraid locals might come along and see him. That wouldn't do at all. Give us a bad name here.”

“Where has he been?” Jessica asked.

“He escorted one of the young ladies home from the dinner, my Lady. Hawat's orders.”

“Which young lady?”

“One of the escort wenches. You understand, my Lady?” He glanced at Mapes, lowered his voice. “They're always calling on Idaho for special surveillance of the ladies.”

And Jessica thought:
So they are. But why is he drunk?

She frowned, turned to Mapes. “Mapes, bring a stimulant. I'd suggest caffeine. Perhaps there's some of the spice coffee left.”

Mapes shrugged, headed for the kitchen. Her unlaced desert boots slap-slapped against the stone floor.

Idaho swung his unsteady head around to peer at an angle toward Jessica. “Killed more'n three hunner' men f‘r the Duke,” he muttered. “Whadduh wanna know is why'm mere? Can't live unner th' groun' here. Can't live onna groun' here. Wha' kinna place is 'iss, huh?”

A sound from the side hall entry caught Jessica's attention. She turned, saw Yueh crossing to them, his medical kit swinging in his left hand. He was fully dressed, looked pale, exhausted. The diamond tattoo stood out sharply on his forehead.

“Th' good docker!” Idaho shouted. “Whad're you, Doc? Splint ‘n' pill man?” He turned blearily toward Jessica. “Makin' uh damn fool uh m'self, huh?”

Jessica frowned, remained silent, wondering:
Why would Idaho get drunk? Was he drugged?

“Too much spice beer,” Idaho said, attempting to straighten.

Mapes returned with a steaming cup in her hands, stopped uncertainly behind Yueh. She looked at Jessica, who shook her head.

Yueh put his kit on the floor, nodded greeting to Jessica, said: “Spice beer, eh?”

“Bes' damn stuff ever tas'ed,” Idaho said. He tried to pull himself to attention. “My sword was firs' blooded on Grumman! Killed a Harkon . . . Harkon . . . killed 'im f'r th' Duke.”

Yueh turned, looked at the cup in Mapes' hand. “What is that?” “Caffeine,” Jessica said.

Yueh took the cup, held it toward Idaho. “Drink this, lad.” “Don't wan' any more t' drink.”

“Drink it, I say!”

Idaho's head wobbled toward Yueh, and he stumbled one step ahead, dragging the guards with him. “I'm almighdy fed up with pleasin' th' 'Mperial Universe, Doc. Jus' once, we're gonna do th' thing my way.”

“After you drink this,” Yueh said. “It's just caffeine.”

“ 'Sprolly like all res' uh this place! Damn' sun 'stoo brighd. Nothin' has uh righd color. Ever'thing's wrong or. . . .”

“Well, it's nighttime now,” Yueh said. He spoke reasonably. “Drink this like a good lad. It'll make you feel better.”

“Don' wanna feel bedder!”

“We can't argue with him all night,” Jessica said. And she thought:
This calls for shock treatment.

“There's no reason for you to stay, my Lady,” Yueh said. “I can take care of this.”

Jessica shook her head. She stepped forward, slapped Idaho sharply across the cheek.

He stumbled back with his guards, glaring at her.

“This is no way to act in your Duke's home,” she said. She snatched the cup from Yueh's hands, spilling part of it, thrust the cup toward Idaho. “Now drink this! That's an order!”

Idaho jerked himself upright, scowling down at her. He spoke slowly, with careful and precise enunciation: “I do not take orders from a damn' Harkonnen spy.”

Yueh stiffened, whirled to face Jessica.

Her face had gone pale, but she was nodding. It all became clear to her—the broken stems of meaning she had seen in words and actions around her these past few days could now be translated. She found herself in the grip of anger almost too great to contain. It took the most profound of her Bene Gesserit training to quiet her pulse and smooth her breathing. Even then she could feel the blaze flickering.

She shot a glance at Yueh. The doctor lowered his eyes.

“You knew this?” she demanded.

“I ... heard rumors, my Lady. But I didn't want to add to your burdens.”

“Hawat!” she snapped. “I want Thufir Hawat brought to me immediately!”

“But, my Lady. . . .”

“Immediately!”

Idaho shook his head, mumbled. “Chuck th' whole damn thing.” Jessica looked down at the cup in her hand, abruptly dashed its contents across Idaho's face. “Lock him in one of the guest rooms of the east wing,” she ordered. “Let him
sleep
it off.”

The two guards stared at her unhappily. One ventured: “Perhaps we should take him someplace else, m'Lady. We could. . . .”

“He's supposed to be here!” Jessica snapped. “He has a job to do here.” Her voice dripped bitterness. “He's so good at watching the ladies.”

The guard swallowed.

“Do you know where the Duke is?” she demanded.

“He's at the command post, my Lady.”

“Is Hawat with him?”

“Hawat's in the city, my Lady.”

“You will bring Hawat to me at once,” Jessica said. “I will be in my sitting room when he arrives.”

“But, my Lady. . . .”

“If necessary, I will call the Duke,” she said. “I hope it will not be necessary. I would not want to disturb him with this.”

“Yes, my Lady.”

Jessica thrust the empty cup into Mapes' hands, met the questioning stare of the blue-within-blue eyes. “You may return to bed, Mapes.”

“You're sure you'll not need me?”

Jessica smiled grimly. “I'm sure.”

“Perhaps this could wait until tomorrow,” Yueh said. “I could give you a sedative and. . . .”

“You will return to your quarters and leave me to handle this my way,” she said. She patted his arm to take the sting out of her command. “This is the only way.”

Abruptly, head high, she turned and stalked off through the house to her rooms. Cold walls . . . passages . . . a familiar door. . . . She jerked the door open, strode in, and slammed it behind her. Jessica stood there glaring at the shield-blanked windows of her sitting room.
Hawat! Could he be the one the Harkonnens bought? We shall see.

Jessica crossed to the deep, old-fashioned armchair with an embroidered cover of schlag skin, moved the chair into position to command the door. She was suddenly very conscious of the crysknife in its sheath on her leg. She removed the sheath and strapped it to her arm, tested the drop of it. Once more, she glanced around the room, placing everything precisely in her mind against any emergency: the chaise near the corner, the straight chairs along the wall, the two low tables, her stand-mounted zither beside the door to her bedroom.

Pale rose light glowed from the suspensor lamps. She dimmed them, sat down in the armchair, patting the upholstery, appreciating the chair's regal heaviness for this occasion.

Now, let him come,
she thought.
We shall see what we shall see.
And she prepared herself in the Bene Gesserit fashion for the wait, accumulating patience, saving her strength.

Sooner than she had expected, a rap sounded at the door and Hawat entered at her command.

She watched him without moving from the chair, seeing the crackling sense of drug-induced energy in his movements, seeing the fatigue beneath. Hawat's rheumy old eyes glittered. His leathery skin appeared faintly yellow in the room's light, and there was a wide, wet stain on the sleeve of his knife arm.

She smelled blood there.

Jessica gestured to one of the straight-backed chairs, said: “Bring that chair and sit facing me.”

Hawat bowed, obeyed.
That drunken fool of an Idaho!
he thought. He studied Jessica's face, wondering how he could save this situation.

“It's long past time to clear the air between us,” Jessica said.

“What troubles my Lady?” He sat down, placed hands on knees.

“Don't play coy with me!” she snapped. “If Yueh didn't tell you why I summoned you, then one of your spies in my household did. Shall we be at least that honest with each other?”

“As you wish, my Lady.”

“First, you will answer me one question,” she said. “Are you now a Harkonnen agent?”

Hawat surged half out of his chair, his face dark with fury, demanding: “You dare insult me so?”

“Sit down,” she said. “You insulted me so.”

Slowly, he sank back into the chair.

And Jessica, reading the signs of this face that she knew so well, allowed herself a deep breath.
It isn't Hawat.

“Now I know you remain loyal to my Duke,” she said. “I'm prepared, therefore, to forgive your affront to me.”

“Is there something to forgive?”

Jessica scowled, wondering:
Shall I play my trump? Shall I tell him of the Duke's daughter I've carried within me these few weeks? No . . . Leto himself doesn't know. This would only complicate his life, divert him in a time when he must concentrate on our survival. There is yet time to use this.

“A Truthsayer would solve this,” she said, “but we have no Truthsayer qualified by the High Board.”

“As you say. We've no Truthsayer.”

“Is there a traitor among us?” she asked. “I've studied our people with great care. Who could it be? Not Gurney. Certainly not Duncan.
Their
lieutenants are not strategically enough placed to consider. It's not you, Thufir. It cannot be Paul. I
know
it's not me. Dr. Yueh, then? Shall I call him in and put him to the test?”

“You know that's an empty gesture,” Hawat said. “He's conditioned by the High College.
That
I know for certain.”

“Not to mention that his wife was a Bene Gesserit slain by the Harkonnens,” Jessica said.

“So that's what happened to her,” Hawat said.

“Haven't you heard the hate in his voice when he speaks the Harkonnen name?”

“You know I don't have the ear,” Hawat said.

“What brought this base suspicion on me?” she asked.

Hawat frowned. “My Lady puts her servant in an impossible position. My first loyalty is to the Duke.”

“I'm prepared to forgive much because of that loyalty,” she said.

“And again I must ask: Is there something to forgive?”

“Stalemate?” she asked.

He shrugged.

“Let us discuss something else for a minute, then,” she said. “Duncan Idaho, the admirable fighting man whose abilities at guarding and surveillance are so esteemed. Tonight, he overindulged in something called spice beer. I hear reports that others among our people have been stupefied by this concoction. Is that true?”

“You have your reports, my Lady.”

“So I do. Don't you see this drinking as a symptom, Thufir?”

“My Lady speaks riddles.”

“Apply your Mentat abilities to it!” she snapped. “What's the problem with Duncan and the others? I can tell you in four words—they have no home.”