Dune: House Atreides (77 page)

Shaddam had grown incensed, too incensed. What else was bothering him? Fenring backed one step away from the throne. "Please, Sire. You're overreacting, losing perspective."

"On the contrary, I believe I'm gaining perspective." His nostrils flared.

"You don't think I'm terribly bright, do you, Hasimir? Since we were children you've had a snide way of explaining things to me in training class, of helping me on examinations. And you were always the faster thinker, more intelligent, more ruthless -- or so you made it appear. But, believe it or not, I can handle situations by myself."

"I've never doubted your intelligence, my friend." Fenring's overlarge head bobbed on his thin neck. "With your standing in House Corrino, your future has always been guaranteed, but I've had to fight for my position every step of the way. I want to be your sounding board and confidant."

Shaddam sat forward on the massive crystal throne that threw sparkle-fire from the glowglobes around the chamber. "Ah, yes. You thought you'd be the power behind the throne, with me as your puppet?"

"Puppet? Certainly not." Fenring backed another step away now. Shaddam was terrifyingly unstable, and Fenring didn't know how he had strayed onto such uncertain ground. He knows something I don't. Shaddam had never questioned his friend's actions before, had never wanted to know the details of bribery and violence. "Hm-m-m-m . . . I have always considered how best I might help you to become a great ruler."

Shaddam rose to his feet, slow and regal, looking down his nose at the weasel-faced man who stood at the foot of the dais. Fenring decided not to back farther away. What does he know? What news?

"But, I'd never do anything at your expense, old friend. We've, ahhhh, known each other too long. Indeed, we share too much blood on our hands." He held his hand over his heart, in the way of the Imperium. "I am aware of how you think, and of your . . . limitations, hm-m-m-m-ah? In fact, you're exceptionally bright. The problem is, you often find it hard to make the difficult but necessary decisions."

Shaddam climbed down from the Golden Lion Throne and stalked across the floor of polished stones from a million Imperial worlds. "A hard decision is needed right now, Hasimir, and it regards your service to me in the immediate future."

Fenring waited, afraid of what ill-advised ideas the Crown Prince might have gotten into his head. But he dared not argue.

"Know this -- I won't forget the grievous breach of conduct you have committed.

If this bribery scheme comes back to bite us, your head will roll. I would have no qualms about signing an execution order for treason."

Fenring paled, and the startled look on his narrow face sent a wave of pleasure through the Crown Prince. In Shaddam's present mood, Fenring realized that his friend just might be capable of issuing such an order.

The fidgety man's jaw clenched, and he decided to put an end to this foolishness immediately. "What I've said to you about friendship is the truth, Shaddam."

He measured his words carefully. "But I'd be a fool if I hadn't taken certain precautions that could expose your involvement in certain . . . mm-m-m-m . . .

shall we call them, ah . . . adventures? If anything happens to me, all will be revealed: how your father really died, the artificial-spice activities on Ix, even the assassination of Fafnir when you were a teenager. If I hadn't poisoned your brother, he would be sitting on the throne right now, not you.

We're in lockstep, you and I. Up or down . . . together."

Shaddam looked as if he had expected to hear nothing else. "Ah, yes. Very predictable, Hasimir. You always warned me not to be predictable."

Fenring had the good grace to look embarrassed. He held his silence.

"You're the one who got me into this risky scheme in the first place, and who knows when we'll see any payback from our dangerous investment on Ix."

Shaddam's eyes flashed fire. "Synthetic spice, indeed! I wish we'd never allied with the Tleilaxu. And now I'm stuck with the unpleasant aftermath. See where your scheming has gotten us?"

"Hm-m-m-m-ah, I won't be drawn into an argument with you, Shaddam. It wouldn't be productive. But you knew the risks from the outset, and the enormous possible gains. Please be patient."

"Patient? At the moment we're faced with two distinct possibilities." Shaddam sat back down and hunched forward on the throne, hawklike. "As you said, either I will be crowned, and you and I can rise to the top together -- or we go down together . . . into exile or death." He let his breath out in a slow whistle.

"At the moment we're both in mortal danger, all because of your infernal spice scheme."

Fenring pressed his last desperate idea, large eyes flicking from side to side in search of some escape. "You have had some disturbing news, Sire. I can sense it. Tell me what has happened." Few things in the Imperial Palace or the capital city occurred without Fenring knowing about them immediately.

Shaddam clasped his long-fingered hands together. Fenring flushed and leaned forward, his dark eyes widening with interest. The Crown Prince sighed in resignation. "The Tleilaxu sent two assassins to kill Leto Atreides in his protected cell."

Fenring's heart leaped, wondering if this was good news or bad. "And did they succeed?"

"No, no. Our young Duke somehow managed to smuggle a weapon in and protected himself. But this causes me great concern."

Fenring hunkered down, astonished at the news. "That's impossible. I thought you'd already spoken to our Tleilaxu contact and told him in no uncertain terms

--"

"I did," Shaddam snapped. "But apparently you aren't the only one who no longer listens to my commands. Either Ajidica ignored my instructions, or he has no power to control his own people."

Fenring growled, happy to divert the Crown Prince's anger. "We need to strike back in a similar manner: Let Hidar Fen Ajidica know that he must heed all orders from his Emperor, or the price will grow much higher."

Shaddam looked at him, but his eyes were weary now and no longer as warm or open as they had once been. "You know exactly what to do, Hasimir."

Fenring seized the chance to restore himself to the Crown Prince's good graces.

"I always do, Sire." He scuttled away across the long reception hall.

Shaddam paced the polished floor in front of the crystalline throne, trying to calm himself and put his thoughts in order. Just as Fenring reached the archway, he called out, "This isn't over between us, Hasimir. Things must change once I am crowned."

"Yes, Sire. You must . . . hm-m-m-m, do as you see fit." Bowing deeply, Fenring backed out of the audience chamber, relieved to depart with his life.

When faced with necessary actions, there are always choices. So long as the job gets done.

-COUNT HASIMIR FENRING,

Dispatches from Arrakis

The Tleilaxu pilot who had survived the Atreides attack inside the Heighliner was a material witness at the trial, and thus had been forced to remain on Kaitain. He wasn't a prisoner, and his needs were taken care of, though no one sought out his company. The Bene Tleilax hadn't even made his name commonly known. He wanted to be back on his ship, back at work.

However, because of the huge influx of guests arriving for Shaddam's upcoming coronation ceremony and the Imperial wedding, accommodations were difficult to find. Shaddam's protocol ministers had taken great pleasure in finding only an austere and unpleasant room for the man.

Much to the protocol ministers' annoyance, the Tleilaxu pilot didn't seem to mind. He said nothing in complaint while he waited, and sulked and stewed until he could bring the foul criminal Leto Atreides to justice . . . .

Kaitain nights were perfect, clear and full of stars and moons. Through shimmering curtains of auroras, complete darkness never fell. Even so, most of the capital city slept during certain hours.

Hasimir Fenring easily crept into the sealed room that held the Tleilaxu man.

He moved stealthily, like a shadow on a suspensorlift, and made no sound, used no illumination. He was accustomed to the night; it was his friend.

Fenring had never seen a Tleilaxu asleep before -- but as he stepped closer to the bed, he found the pilot already sitting up, totally awake. The gray-skinned man stared at him through the darkness as if he could see better even than Shaddam's henchman.

"I have a flechette pistol trained directly at your body core," the Tleilaxu said. "Who are you? Have you come to kill me?"

"Hm-m-m-m-ah, no." Fenring recovered quickly and used his sweetest, silkiest voice to introduce himself. "I am Hasimir Fenring, boon companion to Crown Prince Shaddam, bearing a message and a request."

"What is it?" the pilot said.

"Crown Prince Shaddam beseeches you to reconsider the details of your testimony, hm-m-m-m? He desires peace among the Houses of the Landsraad, and does not wish for such a shadow to fall upon House Atreides, whose members have served the Padishah Emperors since the time of the Great Revolt."

"Nonsense," the Tleilaxu snapped. "Leto Atreides fired upon our sovereign ships, destroying one, damaging mine. Hundreds are dead. He has created the largest political firestorm in recent decades."

"Yes, yes!" Fenring said. "And you can prevent it from escalating further, hmmm? Shaddam wishes to begin his reign with quiet and prosperity. Can you not consider the larger picture?"

"I think only of my people," the pilot said," and how we have been wronged by one man. Everyone knows the Atreides is guilty, and he must pay the price.

Only then will we be satisfied." He smiled with thin lips. The flechette pistol in his hand did not move a millimeter. Fenring could see how this man could have risen to the rank of pilot; he clearly had the stomach to command ships. "After that happens, Shaddam may have as quiet a reign as he chooses."

"You make me sad," Fenring said, sounding disappointed. "I will take your answer back to the Crown Prince." He crossed his arms over his chest and bowed in farewell, extending his palms forward. The motion triggered two needle guns mounted to his wrists. In silence, they fired deadly paralytic darts into the pilot's throat.

The Tleilaxu clenched in a spasm, reflexively firing the flechette pistol.

Fenring easily ducked out of the way. The long spikes hammered into the wall and hung there quivering. A second later, an occupant in the adjacent room pounded on the wall for quiet.

Still in darkness, Fenring studied his work. The evidence was all here, and the Bene Tleilax would understand what had happened. After the outrageous assassination attempt on Leto Atreides -- despite Shaddam's specific orders for them to drop the matter -- Hidar Fen Ajidica had much to atone for.

The Tleilaxu prided themselves on their ability to keep secrets. No doubt they would discreetly remove the pilot's name from the witness list and not mention him again. Without his testimony, their case would be weaker.

Fenring hoped, though, that this murder wouldn't make the little men even more vengeful. How would Hidar Fen Ajidica respond?

Departing from the locked room, Fenring slid through the shadows. He left the body, just in case the Bene Tleilax wanted to resurrect him as a ghola. After all, despite the little man's failings, he might have been a good pilot.

In plotting any course of revenge, one must savor the anticipation phase and all its moments, for the actual execution often differs widely from the original plan.

-HASIMIR FENRING,

Dispatches from Arrakis

The Baron Vladimir Harkonnen couldn't have been more delighted at the way events were turning out. He might have taken deeper pleasure if the rest of the Imperium could appreciate the delicious complexities of what he had done -- but of course he could never reveal those.

As an important House, as well as the current stewards of spice production on Arrakis, the Harkonnens received fine accommodations in a distant wing of the Imperial Palace. Tickets for reserved seats at the coronation and the wedding had already been delivered to their quarters.

And, of course, before all the pomp and ceremony, it would be the Baron's sad duty to watch the terrible trial of Leto Atreides. He tapped his fingers against his leg and pursed his generous lips. Ah, the burdens of nobility.

He lounged in a plush indigo chair, cradling a crystal sphere in his lap. From the depths of the transparent ball shone holo-images of fireworks displays and light shows, previews for the spectacle that would shower Kaitain in a few days'

time. In a corner of the room a musical fireplace whispered quiet notes, making him yawn. Lately, he felt tired so often, his body weak and shaky.

"I want you to leave the planet," the Baron told Glossu Rabban without looking up from the crystal sphere. "I don't want you here during the trial or the coronation."

The broad-shouldered, thick-lipped man bristled. His brown hair had been hacked short, without finesse, for the public appearance, and he wore a padded dra-leather vest that made him look even more like a barrel than usual. "Why? I did everything you asked, and our plans turned out beautifully. Why send me away now?"

"Because I don't want you here," the Baron said, running a hand along his widow's peak to smooth down his thick hair. "I can't have anyone taking a look at you and thinking you might have had something to do with poor, dear Leto's plight. You have that . . . gloating manner about you."

The Baron's nephew frowned and drew a deep breath, still defiant. "But I want to be there so I can look in his eyes when he receives his sentence."

"That is exactly why you must be gone. Can't you understand? You'll give something away."

With a deep breath and a grunt, Rabban finally backed down. "May I come to the execution at least?" He sounded dangerously close to pouting.

"It depends on the timing." The Baron stared at his ring-studded fingers and tinkled their metal against the smooth surface of the sphere in his lap in his habitual rhythm. "At the very least I'll make sure the event is recorded for your enjoyment."