Jalma’s face bore a pinched expression. “Many have dual loyalties between CHOAM and the Landsraad, Mother. Our movement did lose some allies.”
“Then they made their choice,” she said, resting her elbows on the mirror-polished table. “I suspected Jaxson might do something unwise, but I never guessed the sheer magnitude of his violence.” She braced herself, squared her shoulders. “Yet we are resilient. In fact, my son’s blatant violence helps us camouflage the Noble Commonwealth’s true work. We can make use of this.”
Frankos sat up straighter, looking at his mother with surprise and even a glint of hope. “How so?”
“Your brother is unpredictable, but at times, he serves a purpose. His action was like a red flag in a bullfight, and he will draw the full attention of Shaddam and his Sardaukar forces. They will be busy hunting him down.” She rose from her chair, and the two spinehounds climbed to their feet, shaking themselves vigorously so that their silver spines fluffed out like the thorns of a thistle.
Malina swung her gaze around the irregular table, looking at her children and the inner-circle Directors. These were only a handful of the secret supporters of the Noble Commonwealth. “You heard my address in the Landsraad Hall. I personally disavowed Jaxson, broke ties with my own son, although that was merely a formality. He is my son and will always be my son. I believe Jaxson will come back into the fold, and we can use him. For now, he will draw attention while we continue to quietly dismantle the Imperium.”
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?