haired Viscount leaned over his son from the other side, kissed his sunken cheek, and spoke quietly.
The unfortunate boy did not respond, but stared vacantly, only occasionally twitching a muscle or blinking his red-veined eyes.
The sick boy slipped so quietly into death that even Moritani did not notice for several seconds, though he held the boy’s limp hand. Then, in delayed reaction, he let out a bestial sound that was half wail, half roar.
Dr. Terbali straightened from the bedside after checking vital signs. “I’m sorry, my Lord.”
Hundro Moritani swept an arm across a tray of medical instruments, sending them clanging to the floor. He buried his face in his hands and sobbed.
The Viscount was a hard, cruel man with easily inflamed passions, and quick to respond with violence. Resser had seen how his master skirted morality for his own purposes, while putting forth false issues to disguise his motivations. But this was no pretended grief. The anguish over his only son’s death was real.
The flames behind Moritani’s eyes burned as brightly as stars. Resser was terrified, wondering if the Viscount would use the death of Wolfram as a catalyst to unleash the storm he had been holding inside for so long. The Grumman leader would step across the grave of his own son to obtain what he wanted for his House. With Wolfram gone, he would drum up support to take the planet Ecaz for himself, and somehow he would get another male heir. Or did he have an even larger plan? And was it simply revenge?
The Viscount, his emotions changing in a flash, turned on the Suk doctor. With tears streaming down his cheeks, Moritani stormed around the foot of the sickbed. “You knew the cure for Wolfram! I commanded you to obtain it for me.”
“Not possible, my Lord! The Ecazis —”
Moritani hurled the portly doctor across the room into the clustered and clucking observers, but he was not finished yet. Drawing a slender, curved kindjal from his fur-trimmed jerkin, he stalked toward the stunned doctor, while others scrambled away, doing nothing to help or hinder the intended victim.
“I am a Suk — I have immunity!”
Face twisted in disgust, Moritani plunged the knife into the doctor’s chest and withdrew it as swiftly as a serpent striking, then shoved the mortally wounded man aside as if he were no more than a distraction. “Then heal yourself.”
Trying to assuage his grief with violence, he charged out of his son’s death chamber with the bloody blade, reacting to this problem just as Resser had seen him react to so many problems before. “Where are the others? Bring the smugglers to me — every one of them!” He spun to Resser. “Swordmaster, you find them.”
“Yes, my Lord.”
Within the hour, eleven Ecazi drug smugglers were brought before the enraged, distraught Viscount. Hundro Moritani had paid these men to slip through the Ecazi restrictions and obtain doses of esoit-poay regardless of cost. After a few unsuccessful attempts to obtain the curative through illegal channels, they had tried to steal a shipment. In all instances, they had returned empty handed.
One by one, the Viscount had the Ecazi smugglers bound by ropes around their ankles to wild Grumman stallions. In a grisly exhibition, the men were dragged across the dry, rocky seabed until they were dead. Afterward, looking at the shredded red bodies, he snapped at Resser, “I cannot stand the sight of the Ecazi race. Remove these corpses from my presence, and have them burned.”
Resser did as he was told, knowing that Moritani was probably just beginning.
10
One does not need Other Memory to be haunted by the past.
Though Duke Leto’s wedding could in no way compare to Shaddam’s recent spectacle, Landsraad families who wished to pay their respects to House Atreides and House Ecaz would dutifully attend from across the Imperium. The most important visitors would stay in guest chambers at Castle Caladan. The innkeepers in Cala City had cleaned and expanded their rooms to prepare for the flood of visitors.
Two weeks before the scheduled ceremony, Archduke Armand Ecaz and his retinue landed three large lighters at the spaceport. Duncan Idaho went out to greet the Ecazis, and escorted them back to the castle in a crowded procession aboard slow-moving groundcars. Cargo flats followed them, bearing their luggage and supplies.
Paul waited inside the Castle, still feeling uncertain about his proper place in events. What he had thought to be a rock-solid island in a sea of galactic politics had become a shifting sandbar. His mother was nowhere to be found, having decided to occupy herself with household duties out of sight.
The initial party included the Archduke himself and his daughter Ilesa, accompanied by Swordmasters Rivvy Dinari and Whitmore Bludd. Paul stared down at them from a tower window, particularly interested in his father’s bride-to-be. Ilesa was beautiful, though in a different fashion from the Lady Jessica. He considered his automatic resentment toward the young woman, then consciously decided it was unfair to dislike her simply because of her abrupt insertion into the family. After all, Ilesa was also a pawn in the marriage game.
Duke Leto had explained about the political necessities, fully aware that Paul himself might — and probably would — find himself in a similar situation someday. “It is a nobleman’s burden,” his father had said, “heavy enough to break a man’s back and a woman’s heart.”
Paul went to the main reception hall, where his father was greeting Armand Ecaz. Enormous Rivvy Dinari stood at attention, pretending to guard the proceedings, while Whitmore Bludd seemed much more interested in discussing the assignment of rooms with the Atreides housemaster.
An entire shipment of huge potted plants, rainbow-hued ferns, flowering bugle lilies, and spiky Elaccan evergreens had been sent by Duke Prad Vidal himself. The pots were large and elaborate, girdled with a mosaic design of broad hexagonal plates. There was an awkward moment as Thufir Hawat insisted on scanning the plants to prove that they were not poisonous. Some members of the Ecazi party were offended, but the Archduke told them to allow the most thorough inspection. “We will take no risks.”
Paul saw Duke Leto watching Ilesa, who stood beside her father. “Those plants are an entirely appropriate wedding gift,” Leto said. “Arrange them in the grand hallway, to give us a bit of Ecaz on Caladan. While Ilesa lives here, they will remind her of her home.”
Swordmaster Bludd directed the arrangement of the pots, then moved on to numerous other preparations for the spectacular wedding, while Duke Leto finally took time to get to know his bride-to-be.
THE SEAS OF Caladan whispered against the boat as Leto sailed out of the harbor and up the coast, always remaining within sight of the misty shore. The weathersats had promised a fine forecast for the ensuing two days, so Leto would have no problem handling the sloop himself. At his request, Ilesa accompanied him, as if this trip was some form of diplomatic foray.
“I’ve never been sailing before.” Leaning back, she drew a deep breath of moist air. Instead of looking toward the rugged shoreline, she stared out at the waves that stretched far, far to the edge of the world.
“On Caladan, we are born and raised to be on the water,” he said. “Everyone learns to swim, sail, judge the tides, and watch the weather.”
“Then I’ll have to learn those skills, since this is going to be my new home.”
The sun broke through the low-lying fog, turning the sky an extraordinary, rich blue. The bright light bathed Ilesa’s face, and she closed her dark brown eyes. Leto found himself observing her. With her brunette hair, her demure behavior, and her hesitant laugh, she was very different from Jessica, even from Kailea.
She leaned over the rail to the sloop’s prow, where the name VICTOR had been painted. “Leto, tell me about
