Jalma tapped her fingertips on the polished table surface. “Shaddam’s reactionary policies will result in driving a greater wedge between himself and the Landsraad. The nobles will certainly rebel against the higher melange prices, even if some can afford it.” She gave a nod to Earl Leeper on the other side of the table.
“Markets rise and fall. Supply and demand,” Malina said. “We are CHOAM. We are the suppliers, and we encourage the demand.”
“But how do we get around the surtax?” asked Duke Verdun. “I use a lot of melange myself, and now it will be significantly more expensive.” He pouted, and Malina knew that spice was a status symbol for him. “Almost more than I can afford.”
“Perhaps we have another supplier, a completely separate channel from the melange regulated by the Imperium.” Her lips quirked in a small smile, and she saw she had their full attention. “With a surreptitious and untaxed flow of spice, we can supply our own network, our loyalists, the people who continue the vital work of the Noble Commonwealth. Meanwhile, those who suffer from the burden of Imperial taxes will grow ripe for our cause. We can work with this.”
“The situation will not turn out well for Shaddam Corrino,” said young Viscount Tull.
Frankos brushed imaginary lint from his sleeve. “And where will we get such an unexpected supply of spice, Mother? Melange is under the tightest control.”
She paused to look at each of her Directors. In unison, Har and Kar lay down at her feet. She smiled and mused aloud, “I just received a very interesting communiqué from Baron Vladimir Harkonnen. He thinks he has a channel to provide the spice we need.”
Poison comes in many forms: chaumas, or poison in the food; chaumurky, or poison in drink; and the most insidious poison of all, human weakness.
No known poison snooper can detect it.
—“Assassins Handbook”
Accompanied by his warrior Mentat and Suk doctor, Leto summoned a contingent of Atreides guards to head north to the Muadh village. Some of the Atreides soldiers were shocked and shaken at the sudden death of Lieutenant Nupree. Duke Leto insisted on going to the known source without delay.
He took his secure diplomatic frigate, though not in its customary slow and pompous procession. It flew swiftly, like a gunship, and raced up to the pundi rice paddies, the lush terraced valleys and silvery irrigation pools. The Arondi Cliffs rose abruptly like the blade of an ax, marking the location of the farming village and its religious center.
Leto wrestled with his anger and disbelief at what Archvicar Torono had done. The religious leader had boldly distributed the insidious ailar right in front of the Duke, even tried to tempt Leto and his son into trying it. The audacity! Was the man flaunting his drug, so confident in his power that he could dare Leto to do something about it? Did he think the Duke would remain oblivious to the spread of something so deadly, a poisonous substance implicitly tied to House Atreides?
Your Caladan drug killed my son!
He could better comprehend the personal dagger of Lord Atikk’s grief. Even if the spread of ailar had been done without Leto’s knowledge, the people of Caladan were his people, and the Duke’s reputation was his own. No enemy could take away his reputation, but he could lose it much more quickly than it had been gained.…
Approaching without escort or warning, the Duke would demonstrate a swift, firm response. His processional frigate settled down at the edge of the main village, blocking the central path into the clustered houses. Atreides soldiers emerged from the ornate airship, body shields already activated. They lined up as an impressive, intimidating honor guard.
Hawat marched out ahead of the Duke and surveyed the area like a prowling gazehound, then signaled Leto that it was safe to emerge.
When he activated his own body shield, the Duke felt the thrumming ozone around him, saw the faint distortion in the air. Though he doubted these meek Muadh villagers would attack him, his knowledge made him suspicious. Were they all involved in the drug trade, processing and smuggling deadly ailar to Cala City and then offworld? Even if they claimed innocence, they would have to earn his trust again.
As he surveyed the confused pundi rice farmers coming forward, his expression was intimidating. He let his anger show. The Atreides hawk was proudly displayed on his breast, the green-and-black cape flowing behind him. The Muadh villagers milled about, unsettled to see the mood of the important visitors.
He turned his gaze to the majestic Muadh temple, ready to demand explanations from Archvicar Torono. But how could he believe whatever the man said? He knew Minister Wellan had surreptitiously gone to this area over and over again. He knew Lieutenant Nupree had just been here, probably obtained the last shipment of ailar during the recent visit. He knew both men were connected … and it all traced back to here.
As Dr. Yueh disembarked behind him, Leto glanced over his shoulder. “Help me find answers, Yueh. We know where the drug ferns come from and who uses them. We have to stop this, uproot it like a noxious weed.”
The temple doors swung open, and the impressive Archvicar emerged in his formal brown robes and cap embroidered with a barra fern frond. Despite all the soldiers in the Atreides honor guard, the religious leader looked peaceful and benevolent, warmhearted as always. But Leto viewed the bearded man differently now.
Had Torono’s respect merely been a ruse? But to what purpose? Why would the religious leader go out of his way to draw attention to the ailar and its euphoric properties? Leto had been unaware of the “low street drug,” as Hawat called it, but the Archvicar had made sure Leto witnessed the purification ceremony, watched all those people drugged with the barra ferns.
If this ailar, this poison, were being developed and quietly smuggled throughout Cala City, killing his people, and distributed offworld extensively enough that other nobles talked openly about the “Caladan drug,” Duke Leto could not abide it. How many others had died and silently blamed him?
With an innocuous smile, Torono opened his hands expansively to draw a blessing out of the air. “Duke Leto Atreides, my Duke, we did not expect to see you again so soon. You honor us with a return visit.”
Leto took two steps forward and stopped abruptly, facing the religious leader. “Let us not discuss honor here. I come to discuss victims. You must know why we’ve returned.”
The anger in Leto’s voice disoriented the religious leader. “Why, no, my Duke. We do not know.”
“Two members of my staff are dead from drugs that could only have come from your village. At least one noble son has also died from your ailar, and now I learn that many other Caladan people have been killed, because of your barra ferns! Did you think we would not find out?”
The Archvicar looked confused. He took a tentative step back, then paused, glancing nervously at the Atreides honor guard, the glowering face of Thufir Hawat. “What do you mean, my Duke? I do not understand.” Torono made strange gestures, tracing and pulling intangible strands as if plucking an unseen web of lines.
“We saw your ritual,” Leto said. “We know the source of ailar. You showed it to us yourself.”
“Yes, we shared it with you. We offered you the chance to partake as well.”
“It has killed many people, not just in Cala City, or in my own staff, but offworld as well.”
Hawat turned slowly among his soldiers, signaling to prepare them as if he expected the frightened villagers to turn into a mob.
Torono remained calm. “We did not kill anyone, my Duke. I swear by the All-Seeing, by everything the Muadh consider holy, by everything you hold dear. You have seen our ritual.”
Leto could not dispel the memory of Wellan in his death throes, writhing, hemorrhaging. “Yes, I have seen what it does.”
Despite his anger, though, Leto felt a twinge of uncertainty. The Archvicar was quite convincing. The Muadh villagers looked alarmed, but they did not act guilty. The Atreides soldiers remained at attention.
Hawat addressed the religious leader, rattling off the evidence again.
“Our fishery minister died of an overdose of ailar. We found one of your dried ferns in his clenched hand. Our military officer Lieutenant Nupree, who visited here with us to witness your ceremony, likewise died of the drug.” He glanced at the Suk doctor standing next to Leto. “Dr. Yueh has further information.”
The Archvicar kept shaking his head. “No, that is not true. Ailar is gentle and enlightening. We have all gathered barra ferns, used them for generations.”
Yueh said, “The drug is exceedingly potent. I would not characterize it as either ‘gentle’ or ‘enlightening.’ At my Duke’s request, I ran a medical search through the records of Cala City.” The doctor’s brow furrowed in deep concentration. “There are many medical practitioners, small clinics, local doctors. I discovered numerous accounts of ailar use, a black market in barra ferns, but there has been a recent surge of deaths, ugly overdoses. Many local physicians did not know what they were dealing with.” He paused, looked at the Duke. “In the past several months, one hundred twenty-three reported fatalities have occurred, all overdoses from ailar. There could be many more, unrecorded.”
“My Duke, that is not possible!” the Archvicar cried. “The Muadh have partaken of the ferns for generations. It is not dangerous.”
“I saw the dried fern myself in Minister Wellan’s hand as he died,” Leto said. “I know what it was. The connection comes from you, your people, and this area.”
The Archvicar stroked his thick beard as if he thought that keeping it under control might keep this situation under control. “But I know nothing of this. Hundreds of my people partook before your very eyes. No one suffered ill effects.” The rice farmers muttered, and the Archvicar continued, “We comb the forests and marshes up north. We find where the wild ferns grow and harvest the nubs. It is a bonding activity for our community. We dry them here in the village for our own supply. But we do not sell the ferns, not to anyone.”
“Someone does, and I will get to the bottom of this.” Leto knew he could not be lenient. How many other anguished letters would he receive from grieving nobles who had lost children to the scourge? “Effective immediately, I forbid further usage. Burn it all.”
Now the Muadh cried out in dismay. Torono stiffened. “But it is a key component of our religion. You can’t take this away from us!”
“People have died! Caladanians have died. Nobles have died!” Leto said. “And I don’t want any of your people to die, either. Maybe you have been lucky? I don’t think so. Where is the supply? Who sold the ferns to Lieutenant Nupree, to Minister Wellan, to all those other victims? Who runs the black market in Cala City?”
“I do not know, my Duke. Honestly, I do not.”
Leto paused, seeing the sincerity and desperation in the Archvicar’s face. As Duke, he did not interfere with the religious practices of his people, but he knew the danger here, the innocents who had died. He had seen the agony Wellan suffered, and knew how many others had already succumbed. The first responsibility of a Duke is the safety of his people. “Burn all the remaining ferns so they do not end up in the hands of other victims.”
Trembling, the Archvicar looked at the Atreides guards, the Duke’s implacable expression now that he had made up his mind, and knew he couldn’t resist. Sullen, Torono clapped his hands, and deacons rushed into the temple to emerge carrying baskets. “Our remaining supply is minimal, my Duke,” the Archvicar said. “We used most of it in the recent ceremony. We need to gather more ferns.”
“From now on, you will no longer have your ceremony,” Leto said. “That is my decree. I outlaw the practice, due to the demonstrated danger the drug poses.”
The deacons dumped the shriveled curls onto the ground, and the rice farmers backed away, forming a wide ring.
Yueh approached the mound of ferns, fascinated. “We should keep some samples for testing, my Lord. We know very little about ailar, not just the effects of the drug but how the ferns grow naturally in the wild. I have seen a record that the special fern grows on no other planet. If we are going to stop this drug epidemic, we must learn everything we can about the source.”
Hawat agreed. “The Suk doctor is correct. Simply burning this supply will not end the problem. I advise we keep samples for research.”
Leto understood the need. “Yes, keep what you require, Yueh, and destroy the rest.”
The villagers beseeched him, and the Archvicar looked deeply hurt, but before he was tempted to be compassionate, Leto thought again of Wellan’s face flat against his desk, drool puddling from his slack mouth … remembered the grieving letter from Lord Atikk.
Dr. Yueh gathered a handful of dried specimens from the pile on the ground, but only a few. Leto looked at the Archvicar. “My Mentat will engage in a full-scale investigation. If the fern grows only in the wild north, how does it find its way into the streets of Cala City? How are your people distributing it?”
Torono shook his head. “My Duke, our followers do not go to Cala City. The Muadh are simple people. We stay here.” He stretched out his arms. “The rice fields and these cliffs are all we need.”
“And the drug,” Leto said.
“We gather only what we require for ourselves. It is a harmless substance.”
Seeing the mound of shriveled brown ferns, Leto recalled sitting happily among these people as they passed around baskets of the drug, offering it to Leto, to Jessica … to his son!
What if Paul had taken some of the tainted plants and died in horrific convulsions?
“Burn it,” he said.
Two guards came forward, doused the pile of ferns with accelerant, and ignited them.
The Muadh people bowed their heads. Leto avoided the curls of greasy smoke that rose up, inhaling only shallowly. He looked around at the rice farmers, knowing they had revered him, and had honored so many previous generations of the Atreides Dukes.
Hawat lowered his voice as they watched the conflagration. “One point to consider, my Lord. If these ferns grow wild, and the Muadh truly gather only what they use for their ceremonies, then others could be harvesting the barra fern for a different purpose entirely.”
* * *
A DAY AFTER the party returned from the Muadh village, Dr. Yueh delivered his analysis to Leto in Castle Caladan. The Suk had brushed his long, dark hair and bound it neatly in its silver ring, and the diamond tattoo on his forehead stood out because his sallow complexion seemed paler than usual. Thufir Hawat accompanied him, but stood in silence as the doctor presented his results.
“I studied the fern samples, Sire. The remnants we retrieved from the Muadh temple do contain ailar, but the potency is quite different from the samples found on both Minister Wellan and Lieutenant Nupree. That one is a different strain of the fern, with a vastly higher concentration.”
Leto frowned. “Not the same as the drug used in the ritual? Is it a subspecies of barra fern?”
“Maybe, my Lord. But deep cellular analysis suggests it was organically modified. I suspect with the intent of increasing the concentration.”
Leto studied the Suk doctor’s cool analytical expression, though he himself felt deep anger and disgust in his heart. “So anyone expecting the normal, milder ailar could easily have overdosed.”
“Indeed, my Lord.” Yueh held up one of curled brown objects. “The type of enhanced fern consumed by Wellan and Nupree—and presumably by the hundreds of victims in Cala City—would have proved fatal in the same quantity the Muadh used in their ritual.”
Leto’s cheeks flushed. He nodded. “Lord Atikk’s son discovered the same thing.”
Yueh deftly removed another packet from his pocket, a slightly different specimen. “But this is what we found on both victims in Castle Caladan, and it matches samples from other overdose casualties in Cala City.” He extended the second fern curl to Leto. “As you can see, my Lord, the pigmentation is a little different, slightly mottled. I believe this type of genetically modified fern is now being sold in Cala City, and offworld.” He bowed and stepped back, his
report complete.
Leto stared down at the fern remnants on his desk as if they were coiled vipers. “The Caladan drug,” he said, feeling the personal affront to his reputation, his honor.
Hawat added information. “I have discovered that smuggling operations are far more significant than I first imagined.” The Mentat wiped at his cranberry-stained lips and gazed away. For a moment, the old Master of Assassins looked genuinely old. “I applied Mentat analysis to trace connective strands through manifest documents in the Cala City Spaceport as well as uncategorized launches from smaller spaceports up and down the coast.” His heavy eyebrows drew together, and Leto heard something change in his voice.
“Sire, I believe this drug has spread across the Imperium—right under our noses.”
Some people want to know the future so they can prepare for it. But I prefer not to know. I would rather prepare myself for eventualities and move forward with the confidence that I am strong and ready to face whatever may come.
—GURNEY HALLECK
On the morning Reverend Mother Mohiam arrived on Wallach IX, a thick mist lay over the Mother School, turning the day into gloomy twilight. Across the complex of old red-roofed buildings, interior glowglobes shone through the windows, and bright lights illuminated the outside common areas.
The Emperor’s Truthsayer walked briskly across the central quad to the main school complex. Mohiam did not expect warmth and sunshine on Wallach IX, but this day felt less welcoming than ever. She passed young Acolytes huddled beneath layers of dark clothing. Mohiam drove back the bone-chilling cold by adjusting her pulse, her body heat, her nerve responses. Even so, she experienced a different kind of shiver as she stepped up to the tall doors of the administration building.
Mother Superior Harishka stood at a balcony railing on the second floor, looking down at her. She said, “Hurry inside. Waiting for you in this weather does not improve my disposition.”
Dune: The Duke of Caladan Page 18