your son.”
“Paul is a fine young man. Intelligent and brave. I’m very proud of him. You’ve met him yourself, and you can see his potential.”
“And Victor, if you don’t mind talking about him? I only know that he died as a child.”
Leto’s voice became harder. “The innocent victim of an assassination attempt against me. Victor… Rhombur… they suffered because of Kailea’s jealous anger.”
Ilesa raised her delicately arched eyebrows. “It wasn’t a political matter, then?”
“That might have been easier to bear. No, this was far more personal. Kailea and a supposedly loyal guard captain planted a bomb in a processional airship, but the explosion killed our son instead of me.” His voice hitched. “Our
Ilesa was looking at him with deep emotion. The boat’s deck swayed gently as they sailed onward. “And what happened to Kailea and this guard captain? I think my father would have staged a public execution — fast- growing birabu spikes to take root in his vital organs, perhaps.” Ilesa did not even sound queasy at the prospect.
“Kailea threw herself from a high tower. But Goire… I did worse than execute him — I let him
The two of them remained silent for a long moment, while Ilesa continued to stare out at the waves. “We are both scarred people, Leto,” she said. “I know you have deep hurts within you, and I think you are aware of mine. Are we brave enough to use those past tragedies to make us stronger… or should we give up and just be damaged?”
Leto thought for a moment. “Ours isn’t a silly romance, Ilesa. We both know why we are to be married. This may not be what you expected for your life.”
“On the contrary, Leto — this is exactly what I expected. It’s how I was raised. Once the Grummans killed Sanya, I became the eldest Ecaz daughter. I have always been a name attached to a dowry. I never imagined that I’d fall in love with some brave man and then live happily ever after, like in a story. I am quite content with my circumstances.”
Leto came to a conclusion, knowing it would be hard, but also realizing it was the best way. He hoped that eventually Ilesa might become much more — and much more tolerable — than just a political partner, which was all that Old Duke Paulus would have recommended.
“I want you to like Jessica and Paul. And I want them to like you. It is your job to make that happen, Ilesa. Can you do it?”
“As my Duke commands,” she said.
11
To the Emperor Shaddam: Please accept this gift from House Harkonnen on the occasion of your wedding to Lady Firenza Thorvald. This life-sized melange sculpture of a Harmonthep lion symbolizes not only the lion of House Corrino but also the enduring treasure of spice itself from the fief of Arrakis, which your father so generously bestowed on us. We are always your humble servants.
The Emperor takes such a large share of our spice, he bleeds us dry.” The Baron sniffed, then nearly sneezed from the damnable, ever-present dust in the air of Arrakis. “For all the hells House Harkonnen endures on this awful world, we should keep a larger percentage of it.”
“And after today we will, my Baron.” Piter de Vries gave him a smug smile. “Right under the noses of CHOAM inspectors.”
Twelve years earlier, when House Harkonnen had been accused of skimming melange and falsifying the total tonnage reported to the Imperium, armies of auditors and Mentat accountants had poured over the Baron’s records, but the inspectors had found no significant irregularities. He had kept his nose clean for some time, though he continued to search for ways to stockpile spice secretly. Finally, de Vries had proposed an ingenious and viable idea to hide extra spice in plain sight, and now he had successfully implemented the scheme.
The spice storage yard on the outskirts of Carthag was well guarded by Harkonnen troops and by scanner technology. Ten immense silos baked in the afternoon sunlight. Black attack ‘thopters flew sorties around the area, constantly looking for Fremen thieves who might be lurking out in the sands, waiting for any opportunity to raid Harkonnen supplies.
He and de Vries rode a lift up the outside of the largest new silo.
The lift came to a stop, and the Baron stepped out onto a high platform at the very top, from which he could survey the entire field. These silos held the spice stockpiles he was mandated to maintain, ready supplies to meet regular shipments to the Landsraad, the Guild, and CHOAM, as well as strategic reserves to guarantee the Emperor’s share. “All of the silos are constructed of the new stuff?”
De Vries wiped a hand over his red-stained lips and spoke with clear pride in his voice. “Every last container has been reconstructed, including the railings and the platform on which we stand, out of polymer infused with melange. Ten extra long tons of spice not on any inventory, hidden within the structure of the outpost itself. And because of the legal spice within the silos, melange readings are naturally everywhere. No scanners would ever notice the difference. Even the slight cinnamon odor is to be expected. This is, after all, a spice storage yard. We are hiding the spice in plain sight.”
The Baron passed a plump hand across a nearby safety rail, then licked his fingertips, but tasted nothing other than dust. “Ingenious, I am sure. But how are we to
Piter made a dismissive gesture. “We have a polymer separation mechanism, my Lord. At any time, we can quietly extract and exchange the extra spice with inert filler material, take the spice where we wish, and bank the profits without paying the Emperor’s exorbitant taxes. We can siphon off a cup of hidden melange or tons of it, whenever we please.”
In an uncharacteristically jovial mood, the Baron patted the slender Mentat hard on the back. Casually, he reached into his jacket pocket and brought out a sweet melange cake. He tossed the wrapping off the edge and watched it flutter down, then strode back onto the lift as he chewed and swallowed.
De Vries hurried to follow. “Perhaps we should discuss the upcoming Atreides wedding a bit more? Since the death of his son, Viscount Moritani has grown rather extreme.”
When the lift reached the ground, the Baron marched off toward his waiting vehicle. “I confess he makes me uneasy, Piter. He is so… volatile. I am reluctant to be too closely tied with House Moritani. It’s like having a rabid pet.”
“You’re quite right to be concerned about him, my Lord.” De Vries smiled. “Nevertheless, I cannot deny that his urge toward violence works to our advantage now. Let me explain —”
The Baron held up a hand as he entered his cool, sealed groundcar. “I don’t want to know the details, Piter. None of them. I want only your assurance that I won’t be disappointed. Nor will I be implicated.”
“You have my promise on both counts, Baron. As a follow-up plan, I have already dispatched our own operatives, each of them carefully doctored to look like Grummans should they be discovered. We leave nothing to chance.”
The groundcar sped toward the Harkonnen keep, while the Baron ate another sweet spice cake. He wiped his sticky fingers on his dusty pant leg. “Our hands must be entirely clean. No mistakes.”
“None, my Lord. The Viscount is only too happy to claim responsibility. He seems to revel in the prospect of blood.”
“As do I, Piter. But I do it privately.”
