Dune: House Atreides (76 page)

"No, m'Lord. I was merely correcting a matter of semantics."

Shaddam pushed the food platter to one side and leaned over the table like a predator, so close that he could smell the man's unpleasant odors. "Listen to me, Hidar Fen Ajidica. Your people must withdraw your charges in the trial of Leto Atreides. I don't want this matter to come to open court." He sat back again, took another bite of slig meat, and continued with his mouth full. "So, just drop your accusations, I'll send some treasure your way, and everything will settle down."

He made the solution sound so simple. When the Tleilaxu man did not respond immediately, Shaddam rambled on, trying to be gracious. "After discussing this with my advisors, I have decided that the Tleilaxu can be compensated, paid blood money for their losses." Shaddam brought his reddish eyebrows together in a stern expression. "Real losses only, though. Gholas don't count."

"I understand, Sire, but I am sorry to say that what you ask is impossible."

Ajidica's voice remained low and smooth. "We cannot ignore such a crime committed against the Tleilaxu people. It strikes to the heart of our honor."

Shaddam nearly choked on another bite of his food. " 'Tleilaxu' and 'honor'

aren't words usually used in the same conversation."

Ajidica brushed the insult aside. "Nevertheless, all of the Landsraad is aware of this horrible event. If we withdraw our objections, then House Atreides will have attacked us openly -- destroyed our ships and people -- with impunity."

The pointed tip of his nose twitched. "Surely you have enough statecraft, Sire, to know that we cannot back down on this matter."

Shaddam fumed. His headache was getting worse. "I'm not asking you. I'm telling you."

The little man considered this for some time, his dark eyes glittering. "Might I inquire as to why the fate of Leto Atreides is so important to you, Sire? The Duke represents a relatively unimportant House. Why not throw him to the wolves and give us our satisfaction?"

Shaddam growled deep in his throat. "Because somehow Leto knows about your artificial-spice activities on Ix."

Alarm finally registered on Ajidica's masked features. "Impossible! We have maintained the utmost security."

"Then why did he send me a message?" Shaddam demanded as he half stood from his seat. "Leto is using this knowledge as a bargaining chip, to blackmail me. If he is found guilty at trial, he will expose all of your work, and our collusion in it. I'll be faced with a rebellion in the Landsraad. Think of it -- my father, with my help, allowed a Great House of the Landsraad to be overthrown.

Unprecedented! And not just by any rival House, but by you . . . the Tleilaxu."

Now the researcher seemed to take offense, but still did not respond.

Shaddam groaned, then remembered appearances and glowered instead. "If it becomes known that I did all this in order to have access to a private source of artificial spice, thereby cutting the Landsraad and the Bene Gesserit and the Guild out of their profits, my reign won't last a week."

"Then we are at an impasse, m'Lord."

"No, we are not!" Shaddam roared. "The pilot of the surviving Tleilaxu ship is your key witness. Get him to change his story. Perhaps he didn't see everything as clearly as he thought at first. You will be well rewarded, both from my coffers and from those of House Atreides."

"Not sufficient, Sire," Ajidica said with a maddeningly impassive expression.

"The Atreides must be humiliated for what they have done. They must be embarrassed. Leto must pay."

The Emperor looked down his nose in disdain at the Tleilaxu researcher. His voice was cold and controlled. "Would you like me to send more Sardaukar to Ix?

I'm sure another few legions walking the streets would keep a very close eye on your activities there."

Ajidica still revealed no emotion.

Shaddam's gaze turned stony. "For month after month I've waited, and still you haven't produced what I needed. Now you say it could take decades more.

Neither of us will last that long if Leto exposes us."

The Crown Prince finished eating the slig morsels and pushed the plate away.

Though the dish had been prepared perfectly, he had barely tasted it because his mind was elsewhere, distracted by the throbbing within his skull. Why did being Emperor have to be so difficult?

"Do what you will, Sire," Ajidica said, his voice more strident than Shaddam had ever heard it. "Leto Atreides is not forgiven and must be punished."

Wrinkling his nose, Shaddam dismissed the little man, gesturing for the Sardaukar to haul him away. Since he would soon be the Emperor of the Known Universe, he had many other things to do, important things.

If only he could get rid of this damned headache.

The worst sort of protection is confidence. The best defense is suspicion.

Thufir Hawat and Rhombur Vernius could leave the cell at their leisure, while Leto was honor-bound to remain, in part for his own safety. The Mentat and the Ixian Prince often went out to discuss testimony with various crew members from the Atreides frigate and anyone else who might help their cause in any way.

Leto, meanwhile, sat at the desk alone in his cell. Although the old Mentat had always trained him never to sit with his back to a door, Leto felt that he should be safe enough inside a maximum-security cell.

For the moment he reveled in a few moments of silence and concentration as he pored over the copious evidence projections that had been prepared for him.

Even with Sardaukar guards as escorts, he would have been reluctant to walk through the Imperial Palace knowing that the shadow of accusation still hung over him. He would face his peers soon enough and proclaim his innocence.

He heard a noise at the cell confinement field behind him, but delayed looking back. With a humming scriber in his hand, he finished a paragraph about the complete destruction of the first Tleilaxu ship, noting a technical detail he hadn't considered before.

"Thufir?" Leto asked. "Have you forgotten something?" Casually, he glanced over his shoulder.

A tall Landsraad guard stood there in a colorful, billowing uniform. The man wore a strange expression on his broad face, especially in the dark eyes. His skin looked pasty, as if painted on. And Leto spotted something different about the body, an odd lumpiness in the man's peculiar, jerky movements. A disturbing, grayish tone to the skin on the hands, but not the face . . .

Reaching under his desk, Leto slid his fingers over the handle of a knife that Hawat had sneaked into the cell for him. It hadn't been difficult for the warrior Mentat. Leto felt the hilt, gripped it without shifting his position or changing the placid and expectant expression on his face.

Every lesson the weapons master had ever taught him simmered in his muscles, alert and ready. Spring-coiled, Leto didn't speak, didn't challenge the intruder. But he knew something was wrong, and his life was on the line.

In a heartbeat the tall man slipped out of the voluminous uniform, maneuvering the static-seals that held the cloth together-and when the fabric slid away, so did the dull, expressionless face. A mask! The hands and lower arms went, too, dropping in a pile on the floor of the cell.

Dizzy with confusion, Leto threw himself to one side, tumbled off the chair onto the floor, and crouched beside the slim shelter of the desk. He held the knife ready, still out of the intruder's view, and considered his options.

The tall guard's body split at the waist, as if breaking in half -- and a pair of Tleilaxu men spun around to face him, each a leathery-faced dwarf. One leaped down from the shoulders of the other and tumbled to the floor. They were both dressed in tight black outfits that showed every rippling, thick muscle.

The Tleilaxu assassins moved away from one another, circling him. Their tiny eyes glittered like buckshot. Something gleamed in each of their hands -- four weapons, indistinct but assuredly deadly. Leaping wildly at Leto, one of the Tleilaxu screeched, "Die, powindah devil!"

In a flash, Leto considered crawling under the desk or the cart, but first he decided to even the odds by killing one of the attackers . . . to keep them from acting in a coordinated plan. With well-practiced aim, he hurled Hawat's knife.

It found its mark, pierced the dwarf's jugular and knocked him backward.

A silvery dart whizzed by Leto's ear, and now he rolled behind the holo-cart, which continued to project images above the desk. A second dart struck the wall beside his head, chipping the stone.

Then he heard the hum of a lasgun. An arc of purple light filled the room.

The second Tleilaxu's body slammed into the holo-cart, knocking it over. His face oozed onto the floor, liquefied by the hot beam of light. His body collapsed near Leto's hiding place.

Thufir Hawat and a Landsraad guard captain strode into the cell and looked down at Leto. Behind them, guards inspected the two black-clad bodies. A burned-meat odor hung in the air.

"Somehow they got past our security," the captain said.

"I wouldn't call that security," Hawat snapped at him.

One of the guards said, "This one's got a knife in his throat."

"Where'd the knife come from?" The captain helped Leto to his feet. "Did you throw it, sir?"

Leto glanced at his Mentat, but left it for Hawat to answer. "With all your security, Captain," Hawat said with a withering sneer, "how could anyone possibly smuggle a weapon in here?"

"I wrested it from one of the attackers," Leto said, his expression confident.

"Then I killed him with it." He blinked his gray eyes. His body trembled with the after-rush of adrenaline. "I guess the Bene Tleilax couldn't wait for the trial to be over."

"Vermilion hells!" Rhombur said, stepping in and looking around at the mess.

"On the, uh, bright side, this won't look good for the Tleilaxu in the trial.

If they were so sure of winning, why should they try to take justice into their own hands?"

Flushing in embarrassment, the guard captain turned to his men and directed them in the removal of the bodies and in the cleanup.

"The assassins fired two darts," Leto said, pointing to where the needles had stuck.

"Be careful handling them," Hawat said. "They're probably poisoned."

When Leto, Rhombur, and Hawat were alone again, the Mentat slipped a smuggled maula pistol into a bottom drawer of the desk.

"Just in case," he said. "Next time a dagger might not be sufficient."

As seen from orbit, the world of Ix is pristine and placid. But beneath its surface, immense projects are undertaken and great works are achieved. In this way, our planet is a metaphor for the Imperium itself.

-DOMINIC VERNIUS,

The Secret Workings of Ix

Smug and very satisfied, Hasimir Fenring extended to Shaddam a sheaf of covert documents written in the private language he and the Crown Prince had developed during their childhood. The grand audience hall echoed with every whisper and sound, but they could be confident in their own secrets. Shaddam sat wearily on the heavy throne, and the Hagal-crystal dais shone with inner illumination like a firelit aquamarine.

Fenring twitched with enough nervous energy for both of them. "These are files for the Major Houses of the Landsraad who will be sitting at the Atreides Trial by Forfeiture." His large eyes were like black holes into the labyrinth of his mind. "I believe I've found something either embarrassing or illegal about each one of concern. All told, I believe we have the means of persuasion we need."

Lurching forward on the throne, Shaddam looked as if he'd been taken completely by surprise. His eyes became wild and concerned, red from lack of sleep and flashing with anger.

Fenring had seen him on the verge of panic before, just as when they had arranged for the death of his older brother Fafnir. "Calm yourself, Shaddam, hm-m-m-m-m?" he said quietly. "I've taken care of everything."

"Damn you, Hasimir! If word ever gets out about any bribery attempts, it would ruin House Corrino. We can't allow anyone to see our connection to this!"

Shaddam shook his head as if the Imperium was already crumbling around him, and he hadn't even been crowned yet. "They'll wonder why we would go to such lengths to save an insignificant Duke."

Fenring smiled, trying to steady Shaddam with his own confidence. "The Landsraad is composed of Great Houses, many of which are already your allies, Sire. A few carefully phrased suggestions among the nobles, a bit of melange exchanged, some well-placed bribes and threats . . ."

"Ah, yes. I've always gone along with you -- perhaps too often, as if I had no brain of my own. Soon I will be Emperor of a Million Worlds, and I'll have to think for myself. I'm doing that now."

"Emperors have advisors, Shaddam. Always." Fenring suddenly realized he had to be more cautious. Something had unsettled Shaddam, something recent. What does he know that I don't?

"For once we won't use your methods, Hasimir." He was firm, insistent. "I forbid it. We will find some other way."

Intense now, Fenring climbed the steps to stand beside the Crown Prince, like an equal. For some reason, though, the atmosphere was uncomfortably changed. What had gone wrong? As babies had they not both sucked on the same breast when Fenring's mother had been Shaddam's wet nurse? As boys, hadn't they been tutored side by side? Had they not concocted plots and schemes together as they grew older? Why was Shaddam suddenly refusing to listen to his advice?

Fenring leaned close to the Crown Prince's ear. He sounded as contrite as he could be. "My apologies, Sire, but, hm-m-m-ah, it has . . . already been done.

I was certain of your approval, and so the notes were cleverly delivered to the appropriate representatives, asking for them to support their Emperor when it comes time to call for a vote in the trial."

"You dared that? Without consulting me first?" Shaddam purpled with outrage and could not find his voice for some moments. "You just thought I'd follow your lead? In whatever schemes you might contrive?"