But his own Harkonnen pirates continued their operations, undetected and working through their established back channel. In fact, they had just delivered another large shipment from the Orgiz refinery complex, and that spice had quietly been sent to CHOAM—for a substantial fee.
And yet Fenring said he had caught the head of the illicit smugglers? The detestable Count thought he had cracked down on the operation and executed the leader. He had already reported the victory to Shaddam.
But he had the wrong person!
Delighted, the Baron looked down at the blood the workers emptied from the containers, trying to shake out every last drop. “And that is the blood of Rulla Tuek? The guilty party?”
“Ahhhh, hmmm, that is the blood of two of her compatriots,” Fenring said. “I oversaw the execution and drained their bodies for this rather poignant gesture.”
“Then what happened to the woman? Rulla, you say?”
Fenring reached into his pocket and removed a small shigawire spool. “This contains a recording of her being staked out in the desert and devoured by a sandworm. All of the evidence is here. My lovely wife and I”—he reached over to take Margot’s hand, and she responded with an adoring smile—“will travel back to the Imperial Court. I wish to present this personally to my friend the Emperor. He will be most relieved.”
Did Fenring have to make that point, that he and the Emperor were personal friends? Was he emphasizing his power and clout in front of the Baron? Of course he was!
The Baron accepted the shigawire spool, as Fenring continued, “This is a copy for you. I thought you might like to enjoy it in private, at your leisure.”
“I will indeed, Count.” He could barely contain his joy. Fenring had found the wrong culprit! The Baron’s own operations were now safe, provided he could keep a low enough profile.
Upon discovering hints of the piracy operation, Shaddam had sent letters of demand, raging for answers from the governor of Arrakis. The Baron feared he would himself face punitive actions. In the worst case, House Harkonnen might even be removed from its role here on Arrakis.
Now Fenring’s faux “pirates” had already met the Emperor’s justice. Shaddam had his scapegoat, and his fury would be deflected. The Baron and his clandestine plans were safe.
“I shall indeed review it most carefully.” The Baron pocketed the shigawire spool. “I am sure my nephew will enjoy it as well.”
“One more thing, Baron. I must emphasize that Esmar Tuek and his son, Staban, are under my protection. Their operations are carefully monitored and supervised. You are not to interfere, and you will have Rabban stop harassing them. You have your own work to do as siridar-governor.”
At the moment, the Baron was happy to concede whatever the Count wanted. “Indeed I do.”
They watched the workers take away the empty containers, letting the bloodstained palms bake in the sun. The Baron thought it was a nice gesture, an ominous and memorable showpiece for the people of Arrakeen to see.
In his own residence in Carthag, he had caught a housekeeper stealing trinkets and selling purloined water in the back alleys. His guards had apprehended the woman, and she would soon be executed. Now he had an idea. He decided to drain her completely of blood and send several more containers back here to Arrakeen, as a gift to Count Fenring.
After all, the palms would always need more water.
This sort of damage, once done, cannot be undone. I can only hope for forgiveness.
—LADY JESSICA, dispatch to Reverend Mother Gaius Helen Mohiam
Like all Sisterhood trainees on Wallach IX, Jessica was brought up to believe that emotion—especially romantic love—was a vulnerability, and therefore to be guarded against. Despite all warnings about such weakness, Jessica had slipped because her feelings for Duke Leto went far beyond what her teachers would approve of.
Earlier, Mother Superior Harishka had instructed her to eliminate certain candidates as potential wives for Paul. Of course, the Bene Gesserit did not see “wives,” but only pawns in their breeding program, chess pieces to be moved into position, as the Sisterhood planned countless moves ahead.
Jessica had been obligated to follow the Mother Superior’s commandment. She did not know what flaws or vulnerabilities those particular young women possessed, because she was not privy to the details of their breeding program. She had reluctantly completed the task, however, diverting the discussion away from the indicated names in the first round. Junu Verdun was an acceptable choice.
The second time, though, Jessica had been forced to take swifter action, and she had been caught. Even Paul knew what she had done, but Leto’s discovery was far worse. She had no answers to offer her Duke, no excuses.
She hated the fact that the Bene Gesserit had forced her to deceive him. Even now, after she had lived here so many years, they could still yank her strings, like an abused pet on a leash.
Jessica drew on her training to build a thick wall and activate a metaphorical shield around her heart, but she still felt vulnerable.
Given the closeness of their relationship, she hoped Leto would eventually forgive her. She had indeed hurt him, overstepped her role, but from his point of view, she had become yet another surprising betrayal in his life, thus increasing his distrust of the Sisterhood and their techniques. It was no small thing, and she feared that something between them had broken. He remained walled off to her, and she wanted to repair their bond, no matter how much time it might require.
Deep inside, she was still that young girl who had never known her parents, raised from infancy among the Bene Gesserit. Their goals were her goals, and their training had made her a well-placed concubine for Leto. The Sisterhood planted many women among the noble houses, wealthy CHOAM Directors, and other influential politicians and business leaders. Except for what might have been an administrative whim, the Bene Gesserit could have assigned her to some other House, offered her to any of a number of Landsraad nobles.
Jessica had always considered her role special. She genuinely loved Leto, and her heart was heavy with the rift between them. He had been icy to her for days. Jessica tried to speak with him, but he refused.
She would have to let the fires of his anger subside and hope they could eventually come to a resolution.
Perhaps to distract himself, Leto had embraced his new decision with Atreides tenacity, and he was more determined than ever to expand the holdings and respectability of his House. He made prompt arrangements to travel to Kaitain, anxious to leave Caladan—and her. A Guild Heighliner was due to arrive the following day. He would go to the Imperial capital alone, and perhaps that was the distance he needed from her right now. As the Duke of Caladan, he would use the weight of his noble blood, as the cousin of the Emperor himself, to present his case and negotiate more political power and holdings. When he returned, Jessica hoped they could repair their relationship, for Paul’s sake if nothing else.
That was when a new message cylinder arrived from Wallach IX, covertly delivered and sealed to Jessica’s thumbprint only. Apprehension settled deep within her as she opened the metal cylinder, unfurled the note, and read words that terrified her.
She sat heavily in her high-backed chair in her private withdrawing room. She set the cylinder aside and read the message again, as if she could somehow change the words.