Dune (12 page)

At the end of the south wing, Jessica found a metal stair spiraling up to an
oval door. She glanced back down the hall, again up at the door.

Oval? she wondered. What an odd shape for a door in a house.

Through the windows beneath the spiral stair she could see the great white
sun of Arrakis moving on toward evening. Long shadows stabbed down the hall. She
returned her attention to the stairs. Harsh sidelighting picked out bits of
dried earth on the open metalwork of the steps.

Jessica put a hand on the rail, began to climb. The rail felt cold under her
sliding palm. She stopped at the door, saw it had no handle, but there was a
faint depression on the surface of it where a handle should have been.

Surely not a palm lock, she told herself. A palm lock must be keyed to one
individual’s hand shape and palm lines. But it looked like a palm lock. And
there were ways to open any palm lock–as she had learned at school.

Jessica glanced back to make certain she was unobserved, placed her palm
against the depression in the door. The most gentle of pressures to distort the
lines–a turn of the wrist, another turn, a sliding twist of the palm across the
surface.

She felt the click.

But there were hurrying footsteps in the hall beneath her. Jessica lifted
her hand from the door, turned, saw Mapes come to the foot of the stairs.

“There are men in the great hall say they’ve been sent by the Duke to get
young master Paul,” Mapes said. “They’ve the ducal signet and the guard has
identified them.” She glanced at the door, back to Jessica.

A cautious one, this Mapes, Jessica thought. That’s a good sign.

“He’s in the fifth room from this end of the hall, the small bedroom,”
Jessica said. “If you have trouble waking him, call on Dr. Yueh in the next
room. Paul may require a wakeshot.”

Again, Mapes cast a piercing stare at the oval door, and Jessica thought she
detected loathing in the expression. Before Jessica could ask about the door and
what it concealed, Mapes had turned away, hurrying back down the hall.

Hawat certified this place, Jessica thought. There can’t be anything too
terrible in here.

She pushed the door. It swung inward onto a small room with another oval
door opposite. The other door had a wheel handle.

An airlock! Jessica thought. She glanced down, saw a door prop fallen to the
floor of the little room. The prop carried Hawat’s personal mark. The door was
left propped open, she thought. Someone probably knocked the prop down
accidentally, not realizing the outer door would close on a palm lock.

She stepped over the lip into the little room.

Why an airlock in a house? she asked herself. And she thought suddenly of
exotic creatures sealed off in special climates.

Special climate!

That would make sense on Arrakis where even the driest of off-?planet growing
things had to be irrigated.

The door behind her began swinging closed. She caught it and propped it open
securely with the stick Hawat had left. Again, she faced the wheel-?locked inner
door, seeing now a faint inscription etched in the metal above the handle. She
recognized Galach words, read:

“O, Man! Here is a lovely portion of God’s Creation; then, stand before it
and learn to love the perfection of Thy Supreme Friend.”

Jessica put her weight on the wheel. It turned left and the inner door
opened. A gentle draft feathered her cheek, stirred her hair. She felt change in
the air, a richer taste. She swung the door wide, looked through into massed
greenery with yellow sunlight pouring across it.

A yellow sun? she asked herself. Then: Filter glass!
She stepped over the sill and the door swung closed behind.

“A wet-?planet conservatory,” she breathed:

Potted plants and low-?pruned trees stood all about. She recognized a mimosa,
a flowering quince, a sondagi, green-?blossomed pleniscenta, green and white
striped akarso . . . roses . . .

Even roses!

She bent to breathe the fragrance of a giant pink blossom, straightened to
peer around the room.

Rhythmic noise invaded her senses.

She parted a jungle overlapping of leaves, looked through to the center of
the room. A low fountain stood there, small with fluted lips. The rhythmic noise
was a peeling, spooling arc of water falling thud-?a-?gallop onto the metal bowl.

Jessica sent herself through the quick sense-?clearing regimen, began a
methodical inspection of the room’s perimeter. It appeared to be about ten
meters square. From its placement above the end of the hall and from subtle
differences in construction, she guessed it had been added onto the roof of this
wing long after the original building’s completion.

She stopped at the south limits of the room in front of the wide reach of
filter glass, stared around. Every available space in the room was crowded with
exotic wet-?climate plants. Something rustled in the greenery. She tensed, then
glimpsed a simple clock-?set servok with pipe and hose arms. An arm lifted, sent
out a fine spray of dampness that misted her cheeks. The arm retracted and she
looked at what it had watered: a fern tree.

Water everywhere in this room–on a planet where water was the most precious
juice of life. Water being wasted so conspicuously that it shocked her to inner
stillness.

She glanced out at the filter-?yellowed sun. It hung low on a jagged horizon
above cliffs that formed part of the immense rock uplifting known as the Shield
Wall.

Filter glass, she thought. To turn a white sun into something softer and
more familiar. Who could have built such a place? Leto? It would be like him to
surprise me with such a gift, but there hasn’t been time. And he’s been busy
with more serious problems.

She recalled the report that many Arrakeen houses were sealed by airlock
doors and windows to conserve and reclaim interior moisture. Leto had said it
was a deliberate statement of power and wealth for this house to ignore such
precautions, its doors and windows being sealed only against the omnipresent
dust.

But this room embodied a statement far more significant than the lack of
waterseals on outer doors. She estimated that this pleasure room used water
enough to support a thousand persons on Arrakis–possibly more.

Jessica moved along the window, continuing to stare into the room. The move
brought into view a metallic surface at table height beside the fountain and she
glimpsed a white notepad and stylus there partly concealed by an overhanging fan
leaf. She crossed to the table, noted Hawat’s daysigns on it, studied a message
written on the pad:

“TO THE LADY JESSICA–
May this place give you as much pleasure as it has given me. Please permit the
room to convey a lesson we learned from the same teachers: the proximity of a
desirable thing tempts one to overindulgence. On that path lies danger.

My kindest wishes,

MARGOT LADY FENRING”

Jessica nodded, remembering that Leto had referred to the Emperor’s former
proxy here as Count Fenring. But the hidden message of the note demanded
immediate attention, couched as it was in a way to inform her the writer was
another Bene Gesserit. A bitter thought touched Jessica in passing: The Count
married his Lady.

Even as this thought flicked through her mind, she was bending to seek out
the hidden message. It had to be there. The visible note contained the code
phrase every Bene Gesserit not bound by a School Injunction was required to give
another Bene Gesserit when conditions demanded it: “On that path lies danger.”

Jessica felt the back of the note, rubbed the surface for coded dots.
Nothing. The edge of the pad came under her seeking fingers. Nothing. She
replaced the pad where she had found it, feeling a sense of urgency.

Something in the position of the pad? she wondered.

But Hawat had been over this room, doubtless had moved the pad. She looked
at the leaf above the pad. The leaf! She brushed a finger along the under
surface, along the edge, along the stem. It was there! Her fingers detected the
subtle coded dots, scanned them in a single passage:

“Your son and Duke are in immediate danger. A bedroom has been designed to
attract your son. The H loaded it with death traps to be discovered, leaving one
that may escape detection.” Jessica put down the urge to run back to Paul; the
full message had to be learned. Her fingers sped over the dots; “I do not know
the exact nature of the menace, but it has something to do with a bed. The
threat to your Duke involves defection of a trusted companion or lieutenant. The
H plan to give you as gift to a minion. To the best of my knowledge, this
conservatory is safe. Forgive that I cannot tell more. My sources are few as my
Count is not in the pay of the H. In haste, MF.”

Jessica thrust the leaf aside, whirled to dash back to Paul. In that
instant, the airlock door slammed open. Paul jumped through it, holding
something in his right hand, slammed the door behind him. He saw his mother,
pushed through the leaves to her, glanced at the fountain, thrust his hand and
the thing it clutched under the falling water.

“Paul!” She grabbed his shoulder, staring at the hand. “What is that?”

He spoke casually, but she caught the effort behind the tone: “Hunter-
seeker. Caught it in my room and smashed its nose, but I want to be sure. Water
should short it out.”

“Immerse it!” she commanded.

He obeyed.

Presently, she said: “Withdraw your hand. Leave the thing in the water.”

He brought out his hand, shook water from it, staring at the quiescent metal
in the fountain. Jessica broke off a plant stem, prodded the deadly sliver.

It was dead.

She dropped the stem into the water, looked at Paul. His eyes studied the
room with a searching intensity that she recognized–the B.G. Way.

“This place could conceal anything,” he said.

“I’ve reason to believe it’s safe,” she said.

“My room was supposed to be safe, too. Hawat said–”

“It was a hunter-?seeker,” she reminded him “That means someone inside the
house to operate it. Seeker control beams have a limited range. The thing
could’ve been spirited in here after Hawat’s investigation.”

But she thought of the message of the leaf: “ . . . defection of a trusted
companion or lieutenant.” Not Hawat, surely. Oh, surely not Hawat.

“Hawat’s men are searching the house right now,” he said. “That seeker
almost got the old woman who came to wake me.”

“The Shadout Mapes,” Jessica said, remembering the encounter at the stairs.
“A summons from your father to–”

“That can wait,” Paul said. “Why do you think this room’s safe?”

She pointed to the note, explained about it.

He relaxed slightly.

But Jessica remained inwardly tense, thinking: A hunter-?seeker! Merciful
Mother! It took all her training to prevent a fit of hysterical trembling.
Paul spoke matter of factly: “It’s the Harkonnens, of course. We shall have
to destroy them.”

A rapping sounded at the airlock door–the code knock of one of Hawat’s
corps.

“Come in,” Paul called.

The door swung wide and a tall man in Atreides uniform with a Hawat insignia
on his cap leaned into the room. “There you are, sir,” he said. “The housekeeper
said you’d be here.” He glanced around the room. “We found a cairn in the cellar
and caught a man in it. He had a seeker console.”

“I’ll want to take part in the interrogation,” Jessica said.

“Sorry, my Lady. We messed him up catching him. He died.”

“Nothing to identify him?” she asked.

“We’ve found nothing yet, my Lady.”

“Was he an Arrakeen native?” Paul asked.

Jessica nodded at the astuteness of the question.

“He has the native look,” the man said. “Put into that cairn more’n a month
ago, by the look, and left there to await our coming. Stone and mortar where he
came through into the cellar were untouched when we inspected the place
yesterday. I’ll stake my reputation on it.”

“No one questions your thoroughness,” Jessica said.

“I question it, my Lady. We should’ve used sonic probes down there.”

“I presume that’s what you’re doing now,” Paul said.

“Yes, sir.”

“Send word to my father that we’ll be delayed.”

“At once, sir.” He glanced at Jessica. “It’s Hawat’s order that under such
circumstances as these the young master be guarded in a safe place.” Again, his
eyes swept the room. “What of this place?”

“I’ve reason to believe it safe,” she said. “Both Hawat and I have inspected
it.”

“Then I’ll mount guard outside here, m’Lady, until we’ve been over the house
once more.” He bowed, touched his cap to Paul, backed out and swung the door
closed behind him.

Paul broke the sudden silence, saying: “Had we better go over the house
later ourselves? Your eyes might see things others would miss.”

“This wing was the only place I hadn’t examined,” she said. “I put if off to
last because . . . ”

“Because Hawat gave it his personal attention,” he said.

She darted a quick look at his face, questioning.

“Do you distrust Hawat?” she asked.

“No, but he’s getting old . . . he’s overworked. We could take some of the
load from him.”

“That’d only shame him and impair his efficiency,” she said. “A stray insect
won’t be able to wander into this wing after he hears about this. He’ll be
shamed that . . . ”

“We must take our own measures,” he said.

“Hawat has served three generations of Atreides with honor,” she said. “He
deserves every respect and trust we can pay him . . . many times over.”

Paul said: “When my father is bothered by something you’ve done he says
‘Bene Gesserit!’ like a swear word.”

“And what is it about me that bothers your father?”

“When you argue with him.”

“You are not your father, Paul.”

And Paul thought: It’ll worry her, but I must tell her what that Mapes woman
said about a traitor among us.