Before the wire barricade had been installed, some offworld thrill-seeker had gotten halfway up the rocks before falling to his death. Paul remembered that day. Hearing the man’s faint scream, he had dashed to his balcony to see the broken body in the rocky tide pools far below. Not long afterward, two Cala City fishermen had drunk too much kelp wine and dared each other to climb the cliff, also with fatal results. Afterward, Duke Leto had blocked access for public safety reasons.
Though his thoughts were in turmoil, Paul was serious, fully alert, and determined to accomplish this. An intentional risk, controlled and managed, would focus his thoughts as tightly as a lasbeam.
His father and mother both disapproved of him taking chances, but Paul knew that Duke Leto often took risks of his own, and each of those harrowing experiences had shaped and honed him into a better leader and a better man. Right now, his parents were taking great risks with their relationship, and Paul could sense the rift. He needed to burn off the edge of his uneasiness.
Paul clutched a handhold, looked up at the sheer cliff and found the line of his intended route—cracks, outcroppings, accessible ledges. He hauled himself up, wedged his boot into a cranny, and used upper-body strength to lift himself to the next spot. He was on his way, one hand and foothold at a time.
A life spent taking no chances was not a life. Paul wanted experiences, to know the joy and the danger. He didn’t want to sit back and listen to others describe exhilarating experiences and not seek them out himself. If Paul received warnings about dangers, he could avoid them, or he could find a better way to deal with them, growing mentally and physically stronger in the process.
He felt a cool, moist breeze on his face. Looking up the cliff, he could see the sheer stone bulwark of the castle rising even higher. Up on the sheer wall, he spotted the small balcony of his own bedroom, a comparatively safe place. Much safer than this thing he was doing.
If anyone found out about this, they would all reprimand him for such reckless behavior.
Grasping another rock, shifting his fingers to avoid slippery moss, Paul pulled himself up to the next foothold. He knew—yes, knew—that he needed to put himself at risk in order to advance. Just as he had to climb higher and trust in his abilities, mental and physical.
Duncan taught him swordsmanship and shield combat, fighting to the brink of death or serious injury, and accepting no less than excellence. Perhaps better than all of his other instructors, Duncan understood the necessity to push himself, but this steep, slippery cliff was not a controlled training environment. This was something else.
And Duncan wouldn’t understand Paul’s inner turmoil over his parents’ relationship. Duncan barely remembered his own parents, who were murdered by the awful Rabban when he’d just been a boy. Paul’s emotional turmoil was an entirely different kind of wound, but he did not minimize the pain a strained relationship would cause.
After spending his life focused on Caladan and its people, Leto was heading off for Kaitain, trying to play Imperial politics for the advancement of House Atreides. The Duke insisted that he was doing it for his son’s sake, but he had never asked what Paul wanted.
At the same time, Paul’s mother was departing for Wallach IX, summoned back to the Bene Gesserit. Would she ever come back? Paul didn’t understand exactly what had caused the rift between his parents, but he knew the distance between them was a sudden, wide chasm.
And Paul was out here alone, on a cliff face. He continued to climb, focused on each handhold, each placement of his feet.
As if from a great distance, cutting through the rumbling rush of the ocean waves, he heard a voice overhead. “Paul!” He turned and saw Duncan on the lookout platform at the top of the cliff. He tossed a long, knotted rope over the edge, swinging it so that it dangled near the young man. “Grab the rope!”
Paul let the lifeline move past him and continued to climb the steep face, hand over hand, seeking narrow footholds and handholds.
A black rock wobbled in his hand and pulled loose like a rotten tooth. He had put too much of his weight on a single handhold. Scrambling for balance, he slipped a few inches down the rough wall, but caught his feet on a hard ledge, panting.
Above him, Duncan shouted in alarm, but Paul could not spare a speck of concentration for any distraction. He moved laterally away from the rope, inching along the ledge, testing each handhold, pressing down with each toe to make certain his foot was secure. Climbing a little higher, he stretched sideways across a gap, found a small ledge, and pulled himself up.
Duncan moved the rope closer. “Paul, grab the line! Don’t be foolhardy!”
The young man caught his breath and shouted back, “It’s just another lesson. You say we can’t control risk in real life, but I am choosing this risk. This is my own decision. I’m testing myself.”
He continued climbing, slowly and carefully. Moments later, a second rope dangled down beside him, but Duncan did not urge him to grasp it. Instead, the Swordmaster painstakingly climbed down to his level. “Your father would have my head if he knew what you are doing.”
“My father is leaving for Kaitain, and my mother will go to Wallach IX. I am left here with a challenge I know I can surmount. On my own.”
Duncan tried to sound understanding. “I know about their quarrel.”
“I think it’s more than a quarrel. I’m not sure it’s something they can recover from. What if this rift is permanent?” He grunted with the effort as he hauled himself up again. By now, he could feel his arms and legs trembling. His fingers ached and bled. He drove the thoughts from his mind. “Climbing allows me singular focus. There is no room for worries about the future—only the here and now.”
“I understand your need to take a risk and press your abilities, but at least use a safety rope. It is unwise to make the risk greater than necessary.”
Paul stubbornly shook his head as Duncan rested on a ledge just beside him. “What would I learn if I knew I was still safe?”
The Swordmaster’s voice grew sterner. “Three have died on this cliff in the past year.” He balanced on a thin outcropping and let go of his own rope, edging closer to Paul. “If you fall, young Master, then I might as well leap after you. My life and my honor would be forfeit if I let you die, especially in such a foolish way. I’ll have failed my most important duty.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“That is not how your father would see it. You know that full well.”
Stabilizing himself, Paul stared at his friend as the wind rippled around them and the void below taunted him. “So I hold your life in my hands as well as my own?”
“That’s the fact of it, boy.” He reached back to grab the first dangling rope, extended it to Paul. “You will be Duke someday, and your father has done his best to prepare you. What was his most important lesson? What did Duke Leto the Just say is his primary responsibility?”
Paul paused, recalled the words with sharp clarity. “The first responsibility of a Duke is the safety of his people.”
“And you know that I must come down here to protect you, no matter how dangerous these cliffs are or how foolish this climb is.” Duncan continued to hold the rope out to him. “I have no choice in this. My life is in your hands.”
Paul realized what the Swordmaster was implying. “I’m putting your life at unnecessary risk.”
“It’s not as if I like dangling on a rough cliff. I can think of other things I’d prefer to do.” He dug his boot heel into a crack, pressing hard to stabilize himself. “Preparing yourself to face risk is one thing, young Master. Recklessness is a different matter entirely. With the politics and intrigue in the Imperium, you need not seek out danger. It will find you of its own accord.”
Anchored to the narrow ledge, Paul contemplated. He had climbed out here to work out his own frustrations, his emotional turmoil, but he had not given thought to how his actions would send ripples throughout his friends, his family, his trainers. If he slipped and fell, just l
ike those other intrepid climbers who no doubt considered themselves equally talented, then his death would cause irreparable damage to Duke Leto … just as the death of young Victor had. Duncan would be broken and disgraced forever for failing to protect his ward. And if Paul fell and injured himself, Duncan would risk his own life to retrieve him.
The first responsibility of a Duke is the safety of his people.
Duncan was one of his people. Paul had to think like the next Duke of Caladan.
He recalled the most recent thought experiment Thufir Hawat had given him, the set of impossible choices that left Paul with so many lives and deaths on his conscience. “I will not let you down, Duncan.”
He reached out to grab the safety line. The Swordmaster looked greatly relieved. Duncan cinched a rope around his waist and followed Paul, climbing alongside and finding his own handholds. Together, they chose a route along stable rock, heading toward the top of the headland cliff above.
Nearby, Paul heard piercing bird calls, a whistle and a chirp, and suddenly, a large white bird took wing from a ledge directly above him, flapped away from the cliff, and wheeled back to swoop close. It shrieked and scolded in an attempt to drive them away. One of its wings brushed him, but he flattened his chest against the cliff, holding on. Paul identified it as one of the male spreybirds that nested in the cliffs.
The bird flew away from the cliff, then circled back, shrieking. It came at Paul like a missile, and he braced himself.
Duncan somehow kept his balance, tossed a rock, and the bird careened away, squawking, then flew above them to disappear into a sheltered overhang.
Panting, Paul tried to see where the bird had gone. “My mother says there’s a nest up there.”
After making sure his position was stable, Paul strained to look around the rock. He saw two birds poke their large heads out, one white and the other gray. Yes, a nest. Though he changed the line of his climb to avoid the nesting area, the spreybirds continued to watch the intruders warily, ready to attack.
Glancing at him, Duncan said, “Remember when we talked about the Imperium, the Landsraad, and politics? You said you were overwhelmed by it all. It is not unlike climbing. One handhold after another. Find stable points. Maintain your balance.” He paused. “And keep climbing.”
Paul found a wide enough ledge to catch his breath, and Duncan joined him. The Swordmaster seemed to have no more words for this situation, but Paul did. “There are times when the most important focus in the entire universe is what is right in front of you.” He reached down and gave his friend a hand, helping Duncan join him. “What we have at our fingertips.”
They were not far from the top now, but Paul decided just to rest there for a while, where the risk was under more control, and by extension, his life. He was glad to have Duncan’s company. Each of them had proven themselves today.
The best leaders assemble information and take actions that lead to political stability. The worst leaders dissemble information and generate chaos.
—A lesson from Imperial history
With Lady Margot settling into her usual lavish guest quarters in the Imperial Palace, Count Hasimir Fenring donned a fur-lined cape appropriate to his office and strode off to see the Padishah Emperor. He was ready to announce his success against the pirates on Arrakis. Shaddam would rejoice, and Fenring could continue the deeper investigation.
Margot had already gone to see Reverend Mother Mohiam and other important Bene Gesserit Sisters at court, which served Fenring’s purposes as well. His wife had her own set of schemes, as the Count had his, and none of their machinations worked against each other. The two had worked out the diversion to keep the Emperor’s Truthsayer away when Fenring delivered his report, falsely naming the culprit as Rulla Tuek.
He had dispatched messages ahead to inform Shaddam of the importance of the information he carried, and his friend would see him without any prior appointment. Fenring had conducted Imperial business and made unannounced visits for years.
An aide showed him to a tastefully appointed waiting chamber, and he saw that he wasn’t alone. The Sardaukar colonel bashar, Jopati Kolona, sat rigidly on a chair, military cap in his hands and a sheaf of papers and a thin shigawire spool at his side. The officer rose and greeted Fenring with a formal half handshake. He was taken aback to see the Sardaukar officer there ahead of him.
Kolona responded to his curious expression. “It seems we both have business with the Emperor, sir.”
“So it seems, hmmmm.” Fenring sat in the other ornately padded seat, glanced at the report and spool the colonel bashar held. Even if it were classified, Shaddam would eventually show the information to him. He placed his own small parcel on a side table, unconcerned if the trusted Sardaukar saw the information. The awkward silence stretched out.
An attractive female retainer came in and offered tea to Fenring. Kolona already had a cup at his side, but declined to drink from it. The Count accepted the tea, but also left the cup untouched. Though the officer was accustomed to maintaining a blank face, he seemed troubled, and did not try to make polite conversation. Kolona did not look happy.
“Hmmmm.” Fenring made the sound under his voice, and caught himself.
Presently, Chamberlain Ridondo entered. He looked paler than usual, and his high forehead glistened with perspiration. From this, Fenring inferred that the Emperor was not in the best of moods.
Though his own report about Rulla Tuek was a clever red herring, which would keep Shaddam from interfering with the real investigation on Arrakis, Fenring knew the news would cheer and excite his friend. He wondered what the Sardaukar officer’s mission had been.
The chamberlain looked at Fenring, surprised to see him. “Apologies, Count Fenring. The Emperor asked me to summon Colonel Bashar Kolona. I don’t believe he was expecting you? I will inform him that you are here.”
“And that I am waiting,” Fenring said.
“And waiting. Yes.”
The Sardaukar rose to his feet, unfolding himself like a weapon about to be launched, and tucked the report against his side and clutched the spool in one hand. Before Kolona could follow the tall, dour chamberlain, though, brisk footsteps came down the hall.
Emperor Shaddam strode into the waiting chamber. “I want the report of my Sardaukar strike on the planet Dross. Colonel Bashar Kolona?”
Fenring sprang to his feet. Without missing a beat, the Sardaukar officer saluted crisply.
The Emperor noticed Fenring. “Oh, Hasimir!” His voice hardened. “Are you here to deliver good news about the pirate operations on Arrakis?”
Fenring grinned. “Ahhhh, yes, I am, Sire. You will be pleased.”
Chamberlain Ridondo dithered in the waiting chamber. “It was a matter of protocol, Sire, as to which man would speak to you first.”
Shaddam paid no attention to him. He turned expectantly to the Sardaukar officer. “And your report? Is it good news you bring me about the operation? Is House Verdun eradicated, as ordered?”
Fenring was surprised and listened closely.
“Yes, Sire. I bear the news you want to hear.” Kolona relaxed his salute. “A complete success. The family eradicated … just like other noble houses in the past.”
Fenring observed the officer’s mannerisms, and the man did not act victorious. The Emperor seemed not to notice.
“Then it is a day filled with good news! I shall see both of you at the same time.” Shaddam turned. “Follow me. Chamberlain, send refreshments to my private contemplation chamber. Tea, and those local pastries I like. And Tikal champagne, so that we may celebrate.” He paused. “Bring the tray yourself. Don’t entrust it to a servant. This is a highly confidential meeting.”
The chamberlain hurried off, and the other two men accompanied Shaddam into his private chamber. Taking the proffered seats, Fenring and the colonel bashar each removed items from their packages. Kolona took out printed documents and image sets; the Count produced a shigawire spool. It felt as if they were in com
petition.
While Shaddam waited, the two men cleared the area to display their information. The Emperor folded his arms over the thick brocade on his formal tunic. “Shall we choose randomly which report comes first? Or should I have you fight for it?”
Fenring looked at the Sardaukar, assessing. Kolona was taller and more muscular. They regarded each other quizzically, then moved a little apart. Fenring didn’t believe the Emperor’s taunt, but Shaddam could be capricious. Nevertheless, he did not want to waste time or attention.
Fenring glanced at the unsettled Sardaukar and activated his own holo projector. After a moment’s hesitation, Kolona brought out his images and projected them as well, so that the reports were side by side. In tandem, the Emperor’s chamber was filled with video displays of explosions, fire, a massive air and ground assault from uniformed Sardaukar, a young woman falling to her death from a rampart. Fenring’s images showed a woman staked on the sand, struggling as a giant sandworm surged in to swallow her in a magnificent display of primal power.
Emperor Shaddam seemed equally satisfied with what he saw. Apparently, he already knew some details of the colonel bashar’s mission, but he turned to the Count. “And who is this woman in the desert? I hope she was guilty of something.”
“A criminal being executed, Sire. You tasked me to track down the source of the missing spice from Arrakis, the pirates who somehow managed to slip melange past our observers. This doomed woman, Rulla Tuek, was behind those operations. She hid that secret operation even from her husband, who represents our … ahhhh, sanctioned group of smugglers with whom I work.”
The Sardaukar officer studied the desert images, but avoided looking at the violence and destruction still playing in his own report. Fenring observed him, wondered why he seemed so unsettled by his own successful mission.
Dune: The Duke of Caladan Page 40