A refreshing, fine mist rose from the fountain at the center of the Commons, an extraordinary artistic composition that towered a hundred meters overhead. In the design of a glittering nebula swirl, the fountain was replete with oversize planets and other celestial bodies that spurted perfumed streams in myriad colors. Tightbeam spotlights refracted from the water, creating loops of rainbows that danced silently in the air.
"Ah, yes, you have never been to Kaitain, I see," Crown Prince Shaddam said, strolling casually beside the lovely blonde Bene Gesserit. Sardaukar guards hovered in the background, assuming they were near enough to prevent any harm from coming to the Imperial heir. Margot suppressed a smile, always pleased to see how much other people underestimated the Sisterhood.
"Oh, I've seen it before, Sire. But familiarity does not lessen my admiration for the magnificent capital of the Imperium."
Dressed in a new black robe that rustled stiffly as she moved, Margot was flanked by Shaddam on one side and Hasimir Fenring on the other. She did not hide her long golden hair, her fresh face, or her pristine beauty. Most of the time, people expected the Bene Gesserit to be old hags shrouded in layers of dark garments. But many, like Margot Rashino-Zea, could be stunningly attractive. With a precise release of her body's pheromones and carefully selected flirtations, she could use her sexuality as a weapon.
But not here, not yet. The Sisterhood had other plans for the Emperor-to-be.
Margot was nearly Shaddam's height, and much taller than Fenring. Behind them, out of hearing range, an entourage of three Reverend Mothers followed, women who had been investigated and cleared by Fenring himself. The Crown Prince did not know what these others had to do with this meeting, but Margot would convey the reason presently.
"You should see these gardens at night," Shaddam said. "The water looks like a meteor shower."
"Oh, yes," Margot said with a faint smile. Her gray-green eyes glittered. "This is my favorite place to be in the evenings. I have come twice since my arrival here . . . in anticipation of this private meeting with you, Sire."
Though he tried to make casual conversation with this representative of the powerful Bene Gesserit, Shaddam felt ill at ease. Everyone wanted something, everyone had a private agenda -- and every group thought it was owed favors or held sufficient blackmail material to sway his opinion. Fenring had already taken care of several of those parasites, but more would come.
His current uneasiness had less to do with Sister Margot than with his concerns over mounting mistrust and turmoil among the Great Houses. Even without an autopsy by the Suks, several important members of the Landsraad had raised uncomfortable questions over the Emperor's mysterious, lingering death. Alliances were shifting and re-forming; important taxes and tithes from several wealthy worlds had been delayed, without adequate explanation.
And the Tleilaxu claimed to be years away from producing their promised synthetic spice.
Shaddam and his inner council would discuss the brewing crisis again this morning, a continuation of meetings that had gone on for a week. The length of Elrood's reign had forced a stability (if not stagnation) across the Imperium. No one remembered how to implement an orderly transition of power.
All across the worlds, military forces were being increased in strength and placed on alert. Shaddam's Sardaukar were no exception. Spies were busier than ever, in all quarters. At times he wondered if his reassignment of Elrood's trusted Chamberlain Aken Hesban might have been a mistake. Hesban now sat in a tiny, rock-walled office deep in the gullet of an asteroid mine, ready to be recalled if things ever got too bad.
But it'll be a cold day on Arrakis before that happens.
Shaddam's unease made him jumpy, perhaps a little superstitious. His old vulture of a father was dead -- sent to the deepest hell described in the Orange Catholic Bible -- yet still he felt the invisible blood on his hands.
Before departing the Palace to meet with Sister Margot, Shaddam had, without much thought, grabbed a cloak to warm his shoulders against an imagined chill in the morning air. The gold mantle had hung in the wardrobe with many other garments he had never worn. Only now did he remember that this particular article had been a favorite of his father's.
Realizing this, Shaddam's skin crawled. He felt the fine material prickle him suddenly, making him shiver. The fine gold chain seemed to tighten at his throat like a noose.
Ridiculous, he told himself. Inanimate objects did not carry spirits of the dead, couldn't possibly harm him. He tried to put such concerns out of his mind. A Bene Gesserit would certainly be able to read his discomfort, and he couldn't allow this woman so much power over him.
"I love the artwork here," Margot said. She pointed toward a scaffold fixed to the face of the Landsraad Hall of Oratory, where fresco painters worked on a mural depicting scenes of natural beauty and technological achievement from around the Imperium. "I believe your great-grandfather Vutier Corrino II was responsible for much of this?"
"Ah, yes -- Vutier was a great patron of the arts," Shaddam said with some difficulty. Resisting an urge to remove the haunted cloak and throw it to the ground, he vowed to wear only his own clothes henceforth. "He said that spectacle without warmth or creativity meant nothing."
"I think you should make your point, please, Sister," Fenring suggested, noting his friend's discomfort, but guessing incorrectly as to its cause. "The Crown Prince's time is valuable. There is much turmoil after the Emperor's death."
Shaddam and Fenring had murdered Elrood IX. That fact could never be erased, and they hadn't escaped suspicion entirely, not according to rumors. War between the Landsraad and House Corrino might result unless the Crown Prince consolidated his position, and soon.
Margot had been so persistent about the importance of a certain matter, using all the quiet clout of the Bene Gesserit, that an audience had been granted to her on short notice. The only time open was during one of Shaddam's morning walks, an hour he normally reserved for quiet personal reflection ("grief for his dead father," according to the Court gossip Fenring had fostered).
Margot favored the weasel-faced man beside her with a pretty smile and a casual toss of her honey-blonde hair. Her gray-green eyes studied him. "You know very well what I wish to discuss with your friend, Hasimir," she said, employing a familiar tone that astonished the Imperial heir. "Didn't you prepare him?"
Fenring shook his head jerkily, and Shaddam saw him weaken in her presence. The deadly man wasn't his usual forceful self. The Bene Gesserit delegation had been here for some days, waiting, and Margot Rashino-Zea had spent a great deal of time with Fenring in close discussions. Shaddam cocked his head, sensing some affection -- or at least mutual respect -- between the two. Impossible!
"Hmm-m-m-ah, I thought you might phrase it better than I could, Sister," Fenring said. "Sire, the lovely Margot has an interesting proposal for you. I think you should listen to her."
The Bene Gesserit looked at Shaddam strangely. Has she noticed my distress? he wondered, suddenly panicked. Does she know the reason for my feelings?
The sigh of the fountain drowned out their words. Margot took Shaddam's hands in hers, and they were pleasingly soft and warm to him. Gazing into her sensual eyes, he felt her strength flow back into him, a comfort. "You must have a wife, Sire," she said. "And the Bene Gesserit can provide the best match for you and House Corrino."
Startled, Shaddam glanced over at his friend and snatched his hands back. Fenring smiled, uneasily.
"Soon you will be crowned Emperor," Margot continued. "The Sisterhood can help you secure your power base -- more than an alliance with any single Great House of the Landsraad. During his life, your father married into the Mutelli, Hagal, and Ecaz families, as well as your own mother from Hassika V. However, in these difficult times, we believe you would gain the greatest advantage by allying your throne with the power and resources of the Bene Gesserit Sisterhood." She spoke firmly, convincingly.
He noticed that the entourage of Sisters had stopped a dis
tance away and stood watching them. Out of earshot, the Sardaukar remained watchful but motionless, like statues. He looked at Margot's perfectly formed face, her golden hair, her hypnotic presence.
She surprised him by turning back to the entourage and pointing. "Do you see the woman in the center over there? The one with bronze hair?"
Noting the gesture, a robed Reverend Mother stepped forward. Shaddam squinted, assessing her features, her doelike face. Even from a distance, he found her rather attractive, though she was not a classic beauty. Not as lovely as Margot, unfortunately, but she did seem young and fresh.
"Her name is Anirul, a Bene Gesserit of Hidden Rank."
"What does that mean?"
"It's just one of our titles, Sire, quite common in the Sisterhood. It means nothing outside the order and is irrelevant to your work as Emperor." Margot paused a beat. "You need only know that Anirul is one of our best. We are offering her to you in marriage."
Shaddam felt a jolt of surprise. "What?"
"The Bene Gesserit are quite influential, you know. We can work behind the scenes to smooth over any difficulties you currently have with the Landsraad. This would free you to perform the work of being Emperor and secure your place in history. A number of your grandfathers have done this, to good effect." She narrowed her gray-green eyes. "We are aware of the troubles you currently face, Sire."
"Yes, yes, I know all that." He looked over at Fenring, as if the weasel-faced man could explain himself. Then Shaddam beckoned for Anirul herself to come forward. The guards looked at one another uneasily, not knowing whether they should accompany her.
In front of him, Margot's gaze intensified. "You are now the most powerful man in the universe, Sire, but your political rule is balanced between yourself, the Landsraad Council, and the powerful forces of the Spacing Guild and the Bene Gesserit. Your marriage to one of my Sisters would be . . . mutually beneficial."
"Besides, Sire," Fenring added, his eyes even larger than usual, "an alliance with any other Great House would bring with it certain . . . baggage. You would join with one family at the risk of spurning another. We don't want to trigger another rebellion."
Though surprised by the suggestion, Shaddam rather liked the sound of it. One of his father's adages about leadership indicated that a ruler needed to pay attention to his instincts. The haunted cloak hung heavy on his shoulders like a crushing weight. Maybe the witching powers of the Sisterhood could ward off whatever malevolent force inhabited the garment and the Palace.
"This Anirul of yours does have an appealing look to her." Shaddam watched as the proffered woman stepped forward and stood at silent attention, eyes averted, five paces from his royal person.
"Then will you consider our proposal, Sire?" Margot asked and took a respectful step back, awaiting his decision.
"Consider it?" Shaddam smiled. "I already have. In my position, decisions must be made quickly and decisively." He looked at Fenring, narrowing his eyes. "Wouldn't you agree, Hasimir?"
"Ah-hm-m-m, that depends upon whether you're choosing a new garment or a wife."
"Wise counsel on the surface," Shaddam said to Fenring. "But disingenuous, I think. You are obviously Sister Margot's friend, and you arranged this meeting, knowing full well the request she would make. I must, therefore, presume you concur with the Bene Gesserit position."
Fenring bowed. "The decision is yours, Sire, no matter my personal opinion or feelings toward this beautiful woman beside me."
"Very well, my answer is . . . yes." Hearing this from where she stood, Reverend Mother Anirul did not even smile. "Do you believe I have made the right choice, Hasimir?"
Unaccustomed to being caught off-balance, Fenring cleared his throat several times. "She is a fine lady, Sire, and will no doubt make a superb wife. And the Bene Gesserit should make excellent allies, especially in these difficult transition times."
The Crown Prince laughed. "You sound like one of our diplomats. Give me a yes or a no, without equivocation."
"Yes, Majesty. That is, I give you a yes, without hesitation. Anirul is a woman of fine breeding and disposition . . . a bit young, but she has a great wisdom about her." With a glance at Margot beside him, Fenring said, "You assured me that she can indeed bear children?"
"Royal heirs will flow from her loins," Margot quipped.
"What an image!" Shaddam exclaimed, with another hearty laugh. "Bring her to me so I can meet her myself."
Margot raised her hand, and Anirul hurried to the Crown Prince's side. The rest of the Bene Gesserit entourage buzzed with conversation.
Shaddam looked at the woman closely, noted that Anirul -- his wife-to-be -- had delicate features. He noted tiny lines around the doe eyes, though her gaze was youthful and her movements lithe. At the moment she continued to lower her head with its ruffled bronze hair. As if being coy, she looked at the Crown Prince and then away again.
"You have just made one of the best decisions of your life, Sire," Margot said. "Your reign will have a strong foundation."
"This is cause for celebration, with all the pomp and splendor the Imperium can muster," Shaddam said. "In fact, I plan to announce that the marriage will take place on the same day as my coronation."
Fenring beamed. "It will be the grandest spectacle in Imperial history, my friend."
Shaddam and Anirul exchanged smiles, and touched hands for the first time as he reached out to her.
When the center of the storm does not move, you are in its path.
-Ancient Fremen Wisdom
The Atreides frigate departed from Cala City Spaceport for the Padishah Emperor's coronation, loaded with an abundance of banners, exquisite clothes, jewels, and gifts. Duke Leto wanted to make sure he contributed visibly to the magnificence of the Imperial ceremony.
"It is a good tactic," Thufir Hawat agreed with a grim nod. "Shaddam has always reveled in the trappings of his position. The more finery you wear and the more gifts you present him, the more impressed he'll be . . . and therefore the more inclined to grant your request."
"He appears to value form over substance," Leto mused. "But appearances can be deceiving, and I dare not underestimate him."
Kailea had worn her own gorgeous sky-blue-and-lilac dress to see them off, but she would remain at the Castle, with no one to see her finery. Leto could see how much she longed to go to the Imperial Court, but he refused to bend in his decision. Old Paulus had taught him stubbornness as well.
Rhombur emerged into the staging area wearing pantaloons, a synthetic merh-silk shirt, and a billowing cape of purple and copper, colors of the lost House Vernius. He stood proudly, while Kailea gasped at her brother's bravery for flaunting his family heritage. He seemed much more a man now, muscular and tanned, without the gentle roundings of baby fat.
"Some might see that as arrogance, my Duke," Hawat said, nodding toward Rhombur's clothes.
"This is all a gamble, Thufir," Leto said. "We need to hark back to the grandeur that was lost when Tleilaxu treachery forced this noble family to go renegade. We must show the shortsightedness of Emperor Elrood's malicious decision. We must help Shaddam see what a great ally House Vernius could be to the Imperial throne. After all"-he gestured to the proud Rhombur-"would you rather have this man as your ally, or the filthy Tleilaxu?"
The Master of Assassins favored him with a small, contained smile. "I wouldn't come out and say that directly to Shaddam."
"We'll say it without words," Leto replied.
"You are going to make a formidable Duke, m'Lord," Hawat said.
They walked together from the staging area to the landing field, where twice the usual complement of Atreides troops had just finished boarding the frigate that would take them up to the waiting Heighliner.
Kailea came forward and gave Leto a brief, formal hug. Her pastel dress rustled with her movements, and he pressed his cheek against one of the gold combs in her copper-dark hair. He could feel the tension in her arms, and sensed that they both wanted to share a much more pass
ionate embrace.
Then, with tears in her eyes, the daughter of Dominic and Shando Vernius clutched her brother even more desperately. "Be careful, Rhombur. This is so dangerous."
"This may be the only way we can restore our family name," Rhombur answered. "We must throw ourselves upon the mercy of Shaddam. Perhaps he'll be different from his father. He has nothing to gain by maintaining the sentence against us, and much to lose-especially with the restlessness in the Imperium. He needs all the friends and strength he can get." He smiled and swirled the purple-and-copper cape.
"Ix is wasted on the Bene Tleilax," Kailea noted. "They don't have an inkling about how to run a galactic business."
Leto, Rhombur, and Hawat would be representatives from Caladan. Brash perhaps, and showy in their impertinence-or would it be seen as calm confidence? Leto hoped for the latter.
Dune - House Atreides Page 56