“Because of this planet’s vital importance to the Imperial economy, you shall have all necessary resources made available to your station.”
Blah, blah, blah.
How could he dare do this? What a useless waste of his talent. What petty revenge to send Fenring off to a sandhole festering with worms and unwashed people. He fumed, wishing he could discuss the matter with the fascinating Margot Rashino-Zea, whom he trusted more than he should. She was, after all, a Bene Gesserit witch. . . .
Because of the planet’s vital importance! He snorted in disgust, then set about smashing everything breakable he could get his hands on. He knew Shaddam had banished him in a fit of pique. For a man with Fenring’s capabilities, the new job was an insult, and it removed him from the center of Imperial power. He needed to be here, on Kaitain, at the hurricane’s eye of politics, not lost out in some forgotten corner of space.
But Shaddam’s decree could not be questioned or denied. Fenring had thirty days to report to the notorious arid planet. He wondered if he would ever return.
All persons are contained within a single individual, just as all time is in a moment, and the entire universe is in a grain of sand.
—Fremen Saying
On the day of Shaddam IV’s coronation and wedding, a carnival air prevailed on all the worlds of the Imperium. Jubilant crowds immersed themselves in drinking, dancing, sporting events, and fireworks exhibitions. Old Emperor Elrood had held his throne for so long that few people could remember the last time a new ruler had been crowned.
In Kaitain’s capital city, throngs gathered along the magnificent boulevards, lining up beside the route the royal procession would take. It was a sunny day— as usual— and vendors did a brisk business hawking souvenirs, commemorative items, and refreshments.
Royal Corrino flags fluttered in the breeze; everyone wore their scarlet and gold to mark the occasion. Sardaukar soldiers guarded the convoluted route, wearing ceremonial gold brocade over their dress gray-and-black uniforms. Standing like stone guardians, they held their lasrifles in the present-arms position, unmoved by the blaring fanfare or the roar of the crowd. But they remained ready to react with deadly force at the slightest hint of threat to the Imperial presence.
Boisterous cheers rose from thousands of throats as Crown Prince Shaddam and his betrothed Lady Anirul rolled by in a velvet-cushioned coach pulled by six golden lions from Harmonthep; braided with jewels, the animals’ magnificent manes ruffled in the gentle breeze. Royal footmen and pikemen jogged alongside the carriage, which was barely obscured by the gossamer shimmer of a protective shield.
Looking intensely regal, Anirul waved and smiled; she had shed her black Bene Gesserit robes and wore a waterfall of laces, ruffles, and pearl drops. Her tiara dazzled with prisms and jewels, catching the sunlight from the ever-cloudless sky. Beside her, Shaddam looked magnificent with his reddish hair perfectly pomaded, his military-style uniform decked with braids and shoulder boards and clanking medals.
Since the Crown Prince’s marriage displayed no favoritism to any Great or Minor House, the Landsraad had accepted Anirul as the Imperial consort, though many questioned her mysterious background and “hidden rank” in the Bene Gesserit. After the death of Elrood, though, followed by this grandiose coronation and wedding, the Imperium was awash in a sea of changes. Shaddam hoped to use that to his advantage.
With a paternal smile fixed on his face, he scattered solari coins and packets of gemdust to the crowd, following a tradition of Imperial largesse that was believed to bring blessings upon a new reign. The people loved him; he was surrounded by wealth; with the snap of his fingers he could obliterate entire worlds. This was exactly how he had imagined the role of Emperor would be.
A flourish of trumpets made joyful clarion sounds.
• • •
“Won’t you sit with me, Hasimir?” the willowy blonde asked, giving him a coquettish smile during the pre-coronation reception. Fenring couldn’t tell if Margot Rashino-Zea had purposely made her voice sultry, or if it just came naturally to her. He held a plate of food containing exotic hors d’oeuvres. Poison-snoopers fluttered like hummingbirds over the crowded guests. The day’s ceremonies would last for hours upon hours, and the guests could relax and partake of refreshments at their leisure.
Sister Margot Rashino-Zea stood taller than Fenring, and leaned intimately close to him when she spoke. Her coral-and-jet dress shimmered around the exquisite perfection of her form and features. She wore a Caladanian pearl necklace and a brooch encrusted with gold and precious stones. Her skin looked like rich, honeyed milk.
Around them in the balcony lobby of the Grand Theatre, elegantly dressed noblemen and ladies chatted and drank grand cru wines from tall-stemmed glasses. The octave-crystal hummed as glasses were touched together in repeated toasts. Within the hour, the assemblage would witness the climactic double event that would be held on center stage: the coronation of Padishah Emperor Shaddam Corrino IV and his wedding to the Lady Anirul Sadow Tonkin of the Bene Gesserit.
Fenring nodded his large head and executed a brief bow to her. “I would be honored to sit next to you, lovely Margot.” Balancing his plate, Fenring lowered himself onto the bench beside her. She inspected the hors d’oeuvres he had chosen and, without asking, reached over to pluck one of them for herself.
It was a cheerful gathering, Fenring thought, without the whisperings of discontent that had so poisoned the Palace in recent months. He was satisfied with his own efforts in this regard. Key alliances had been solidified, and the Federated Houses no longer made any serious talk of revolt against Shaddam. The Bene Gesserit had thrown their public support behind the Corrino reign, and no doubt the witches had continued their machinations behind the scenes at other Great Houses. Fenring found it curious that many of those who’d been the most suspicious and outspoken nobles were no longer counted among the living— and even more curious that he’d had nothing to do with it.
The trial of Leto Atreides had ended by fiat, and the only ones openly dissatisfied with the verdict were the Bene Tleilax. He and Shaddam would work to quiet them quickly, though. The greatest mystery in Fenring’s mind was that no one seemed to know exactly what had happened inside the Guild Heighliner.
The more he observed and the more he considered the strange sequence of events, the more he began to believe the possibility that young Leto Atreides had been framed after all—but how and by whom? No other House had come forward to gloat, and since virtually everyone had believed in Atreides culpability, even the most imaginative and loose tongues had not bothered to spread additional rumors.
Fenring would dearly love to know what had happened, if only to add the technique to his own repertoire. But, once he went off to his new assignment on Arrakis, he doubted he would have any opportunity to unravel the secret.
Before he could advance his pleasant conversation with Margot, though, he heard thunderous crowds outside and resonating trumpets. “Shaddam and the royal entourage are coming,” Margot said with a toss of her honey-blonde hair. “We’d best go find our seats.”
Fenring knew the Crown Prince’s carriage would now be entering the quadrangle containing the theatre and Imperial government buildings. He tried to cover his disappointment. “But you’ll be in the Bene Gesserit section, my dear.” He stared at her with glittering dark eyes as he dipped a piece of pheasant Kaitain into a bowl of plum sauce. “Would you like me to dress in one of those costumes and pretend to be in the Sisterhood?” He swallowed the morsel, savored its sweetness. “I’d do it, to be next to you, hm-m-m-m?”
She tapped him on the chest playfully. “You aren’t what you appear to be, that’s for certain, Hasimir Fenring.”
His overlarge eyes narrowed. “Meaning?”
“Meaning . . . we have much in common, you and I.” She pressed one of her soft breasts against his arm. “Perhaps it would be wise for the two of us to continue— and formalize— this alliance we seem to be forming.”
Fenr
ing glanced around to see if anyone was eavesdropping. He didn’t like snoopers. Leaning close to her, he spoke in a passionless voice. “I never intended to take a wife. I am a genetic-eunuch and cannot father children.”
“Then we may be required to make certain sacrifices, each in our own ways. That need be nothing personal.” She arched her golden eyebrows. “Besides, I imagine you have your ways of pleasing a woman? I, too, have had extensive . . . training.”
A cruel smile slashed his face. “Ah-um-m-m-m. Is that so? My dear Margot, it sounds as if you’re presenting me with a business plan.”
“And you, Hasimir, seem to be a man who prefers practicality over romanticism. I think we’re well matched,” she said. “Both of us are skilled at recognizing layered plans, the labyrinthine ways in which seemingly unrelated actions are actually connected.”
“The results are often quite deadly, aren’t they?”
She reached over with her napkin to wipe plum sauce from the side of his mouth. “Mmm, you need someone to take care of you.”
He studied her, the finishing-school way she held her chin high, the perfection and steady tempo of her speech— such a contrast to his occasional slurs and verbal hesitations. Her gray-green eyes gazed at him without apparent concealment. But he could see the sparkle of secrets held behind those lovely pupils . . . so many secrets.
And he could spend years and years reveling in the challenge of uncovering them.
Fenring reminded himself how clever these witches were; they did not take individual action. Nothing was as it seemed. “You and your Sisterhood have a larger purpose in mind, Margot, my dear. I know something of the ways of the Bene Gesserit. You are a group organism.”
“Well, I’ve informed the organism of what I wish to do.”
“Informed them, or asked them? Or did they send you after me in the first place?”
The Dame of House Venette strolled by, leading a brace of small, coiffed dogs. Her gilded dress was so voluminous that other guests had to back out of her way. With each step, the noblewoman fixed her blank gaze forward, as if just concentrating on keeping her balance.
Margot watched the spectacle, then turned back to Fenring. “There are obvious advantages to all of us, and Mother Superior Harishka has already given me her blessing. You would gain a valuable connection with the Sisterhood, though I wouldn’t necessarily tell you all of our secrets.” She nudged him playfully, nearly causing him to spill his plate of food.
“Mm-m-m-m,” he said, looking over the perfection of her figure, “and I am a key to the power of Shaddam. He trusts no one more than me.”
Bemused, Margot raised her eyebrows. “Oh? Is that why he sent you away to Arrakis? Because you’re so close to him? I’m told that you aren’t happy with the new duty.”
“How did you find out about that?” Fenring scowled, felt the uncomfortable sensation of losing his balance. “I just learned of the assignment myself two days ago.” This clever witch had more to say, and he waited for her.
“Hasimir Fenring, you must learn to use every circumstance to your advantage. Arrakis is the key to melange, and the spice opens the universe. Our new Emperor may think he has merely reassigned you, but in reality he has entrusted you with something vitally important. Think of it— Imperial Observer on Arrakis.”
“Yes, and the Baron Harkonnen won’t like it one bit. I suspect he’s been hiding many small details all along.”
She graced him with a lush, full smile. “No one can hide such things from you, my dear. Or me.”
He smiled back at her. “Then we can while away the miserable days ferreting out his secrets.”
She ran her long, thin fingers along his sleeve. “Arrakis is a most difficult place in which to live, but . . . perhaps you would enjoy it more in my company?”
He grew wary, as was his nature. Though the crowd was filled with extravagant costumes and exotic plumage, Margot was the most beautiful woman in the entire hall. “I might. But why would you want to go there? A horrible place, by all accounts.”
“My Sisters describe it as a planet of ancient mysteries, and my spending time there would greatly increase my standing among the Bene Gesserit. It could be an important step in my training to become a Reverend Mother. Use your imagination: sandworms, Fremen, spice. It could be most interesting if you and I were to solve those mysteries together. I’m stimulated by your companionship, Hasimir.”
“I’ll give your . . . proposal some thought.”
He was drawn to this woman physically and emotionally . . . bothersome feelings. When he had experienced such strong emotions in the past, he had felt compelled to dismiss the attraction, get rid of it in any manner necessary. This Sister Margot Rashino-Zea was different, though— or seemed to be. Only time would tell.
He’d heard stories of Bene Gesserit breeding programs, but because of his congenital deformity, the Sisterhood would not be after his genetic line; there had to be something else to it. Obviously Margot’s motives went beyond her personal feelings— if she truly had any feelings for him. This woman had to see the opportunities in him, both for herself and for her order of Sisters.
And Margot offered him something as well— a new avenue to power he’d never dreamed existed. Until now, his only advantage had rested with Shaddam, his fortuitous childhood companion. But that status had been recently damaged when the Crown Prince began behaving strangely. Shaddam had stepped beyond his abilities, attempting to make his own decisions and think for himself. A dangerous, foolhardy course of action, and he didn’t even seem to know it yet.
Given the circumstances, Fenring needed new contacts in powerful places. Such as the Bene Gesserit.
With the arrival of the Imperial carriage outside, guests began streaming into the Grand Theatre. Fenring discarded his plate on a side table, and Margot slipped her arm through his, saying, “You’ll sit with me, then?”
“Yes,” he said with a wink, “and maybe a little more than that.”
She smiled prettily, and he thought of how difficult it would be to kill this woman. If it ever came to that.
• • •
Each house major had received a dozen tickets to the double event in the Grand Theatre, while the rest of the population in the Imperium watched over planetary relays. Everyone would talk about the details of the magnificent ceremony for at least the next decade— exactly as Shaddam intended.
As the representative of his restored House, Duke Leto Atreides sat with his entourage in blackplaz seats in the second row, main level. The Emperor’s “beloved cousin” had maintained pretenses since the ending of the Landsraad trial, but Leto did not believe the feigned friendship would last beyond his return to Caladan— unless, of course, Shaddam intended to collect on the favor. Beware of what you buy, the Old Duke had said, for there may be hidden costs.
Thufir Hawat sat on Leto’s right and a proud and effusive Rhombur Vernius on his left. On the other side of Rhombur sat his sister Kailea, who had joined the delegation after Leto was freed. She had rushed to Kaitain to see the coronation and to stand beside her brother— her emerald eyes dazzled with every fresh sight. Not a moment went by without Kailea gasping or exclaiming in delight at some new marvel. Leto’s heart warmed to see such utter joy in her, the first he’d noticed since their flight from Ix.
While Rhombur wore Vernius purple and copper, Kailea chose to drape her creamy shoulders with an Atreides cloak sporting red hawk armorial crests, like Leto’s. Clutching his forearm and letting him escort her to their seats, Kailea told him with a soft smile, “I chose these colors out of respect for the host who granted us sanctuary, and to commemorate the restored fortunes of House Atreides.” She kissed him on the cheek.
Since the matter of the death sentence on House Vernius still hung like a thick cloud on the horizon, the siblings attended the festivities at considerable personal risk. In the present atmosphere of celebration, however, Thufir Hawat surmised that they were probably safe, provided they didn’t overstay thei
r welcome. When Leto first heard this, he laughed. “Thufir, do Mentats ever provide guarantees?” Hawat did not find this amusing.
Though the coronation and Imperial wedding were among the safest places in the universe because of the intense public attention, Leto doubted that Dominic Vernius would show his face. Even now, after vindictive Elrood’s death, Rhombur’s father had not ventured out of hiding, had not sent them any sort of message whatsoever.
Across the rear of the cavernous theatre, on both the main and upper levels, sat representatives of Houses Minor and various factions among CHOAM, the Spacing Guild, the Mentats, the Suk doctors, and other power bases scattered across the million worlds. House Harkonnen had their own segregated section in an upper balcony; the Baron, attending without his nephew Rabban, refused even to glance in the direction of the Atreides seats.
“The colors, the sounds, the perfumes— it’s making me dizzy,” Kailea said, drawing a deep breath and leaning closer to Leto. “I’ve never seen anything like this— on Ix, or on Caladan.”
Leto said, “No one in the Imperium has seen anything like this in almost a hundred and forty years.”
In the first row, directly in front of the Atreides, sat a contingent of Bene Gesserit women in identical black robes, including withered Mother Superior Harishka. On the other side of the aisle from the quiet and manipulative women stood fully armed Sardaukar in ceremonial uniforms.
The Bene Gesserit delegation greeted fresh-faced Reverend Mother Anirul, the Empress-to-be, as she passed the group, accompanied by a large honor guard and garishly dressed ladies-in-waiting. Rhombur searched for the stunning blonde woman who’d given him the mysterious message cube, and found her sitting with Hasimir Fenring instead of with the other Sisters.
An air of expectation filled the high-ceilinged, tiered facility. Finally, a hush fell over the Grand Theatre, and everyone stood respectfully, holding their hats and caps.
Crown Prince Shaddam, attired in a formal Sardaukar commander’s uniform with silver epaulets and the Golden Lion crest of House Corrino, marched down the aisle on a carpet of velvet and damask. His red hair was pomaded with glitter. Members of his royal Court followed him, all of them wearing scarlet and gold.
Dune: House Atreides Page 62