stumble and fall, shoved down by the abrasive blasts. Others fought to stand upright, as if to prove something to Muad’Dib… but what? If he were younger, Paul Atreides might have wept for their blind zeal that they called bravery. But now his Fremen training, and his anger at their wasted gesture, cut off all tears.
Sadly, he knew that the other members of the spice crew, those who had witnessed this pointless if dramatic sacrifice, would draw another conclusion entirely. As the sands and the winds curled over the abandoned site, finally engulfing the last of the defiant men from Omwara, Paul was sure the witnesses would not see this as the fate one deserved for disobeying the direct orders of Muad’Dib. They would admire those fools as true believers, and there was nothing he could do about it.
“Take us back to Sietch Tabr,” Paul said to the pilot. “I have seen enough.”
10
While I often use knives, I rarely kill in the same manner twice. It is much more interesting, and safer for me, to continually devise new methods and angles of attack — a constant process that hones the blade of my mind sharper with each experience. And the delicious secret of timing and surprise! Ah, that is a subject in and of itself. It speaks to the very essence of control.
Even after more than forty years of marriage, Count Fenring still found his wife, Margot, incredibly attractive… as she reminded him every time she seduced him. For the good of his marriage and his own physical well-being, Fenring never tired of allowing himself to be ensnared.
In their private sanctuary residence in Thalidei, Fenring found excitement not only in the warm and comforting sexual act, but in the fact that he had found and deactivated four more secret Tleilaxu spying devices. How many times had the gnomish little men observed their lovemaking? Angered by the intrusion, the Count had decided to track down the primary culprit and strangle him, preferably in front of other squealing Tleilaxu. On the other hand, knowing something about that race’s bizarre and prudish attitude toward sex, Fenring decided that the spies had probably witnessed his and Margot’s passion with some measure of disgust, rather than titillation. That idea amused him.
Fenring did not fit an Adonis-like mold of male attractiveness. His narrow, ferretlike facial features might not be particularly handsome, but his body was muscular and well-toned. He had never preened in an attempt to make women notice him. His skills had been to remain quietly
As soon as he was confident that the Tleilaxu spy-eyes were deactivated, he and Margot disrobed, gazing on each other in the warm light of golden glowpanels. She led him to the bed, and the two of them began to demonstrate their proficiency in an ever-increasing repertoire of pleasuring skills. Over four decades, Fenring was continually amazed at how much he had learned and how many techniques he had yet to try.
“Ah, my dear, you are always a wonder to me.” As they lay on the bed, he kissed her tenderly. She worked the gentlest touch of her fingertips along his ear, creating an invisible embroidery of fired neurons in his skin. He shuddered.
“We are well suited to each other,” she agreed.
They had chosen each other for political reasons, as well as mutual attraction. Nearly concurrent with Shaddam’s wedding to his first wife, Anirul, their own marriage ceremony had received far less attention and almost no spectacle. Even so, their union had lasted far, far longer.
The gold-handled knife that Bashar Garon had delivered as a peace offering from the deposed Emperor still lay on a bureau. Fenring occasionally looked at it and thought about Shaddam’s fervent desire to be restored to the Lion Throne. Even though Paul-Muad’Dib was causing horrific damage to human civilization, Fenring had never been able to convince himself that his Corrino friend was a better alternative. No, he and Margot had their own plans.
As he made love to her, Fenring fantasized, but not about other women. He remembered the feel of warm blood on his fingers, the careful selection of proper tools of his trade. If he had enough safe time after performing his wet work, he rather enjoyed gazing upon the rich burgundy color of his victim’s life essence, the way it gushed from the body and pooled and sparkled in the smallest light, as if trying to recapture life, but then stopped and coagulated and hardened. Even Shaddam did not know how many people Fenring had killed.
The first of his murders had occurred at a much younger age than the Corrino patriarch realized, when Fenring was only four. Four! He was proud of this accomplishment, because it meant that even at a young age he was able to identify enemies. The teenage yard boy he’d stabbed had deserved it anyway, because the older boy had tried to molest him. Even as a child, Fenring had seen through the tricky words and promises and had plunged a pocket knife deep into the aggressor’s abdomen. His willpower always made up for any mismatch in physical strength between himself and his opponent. Young Hasimir had inflicted a hundred wounds on his victim’s body before getting his fill. Because the teenager had been furtive about his abnormal sexual activities, no one had ever suspected the four-year-old.
He sighed now, feeling the thrill of remembrance. Margot held him, adjusting her own movements to his, expertly controlling her own body so that they climaxed simultaneously and thunderously.
“You make it impossible for me to even think of other things, my dear,” Fenring lied.
She smiled. “My way of repaying you for being so understanding about the breeding obligations the Sisterhood placed upon me.” She stroked his cheek, scratching at the stubble there. “And you’ve been so loving.”
“I understood the need for seducing Feyd-Rautha. It was not a particularly onerous task, I presume?”
“Oh, he was cocksure, but he was just a boy who liked women telling him how good he was in bed, instead of showing him
“Yes, hmmm, we have her — and the Sisterhood doesn’t.”
“Neither do the Tleilaxu,” Margot added with conditioned annoyance. “And now they claim to have their own Kwisatz Haderach. We must learn their plans.”
Fenring knew he needed a way to pry that knowledge from Dr. Ereboam. “Perhaps with their plans and your knowledge of the Sisterhood — and Marie — we can make this new Kwisatz Haderach truly successful, not a fiend like Muad’Dib or a dead end like myself.”
“I want to see the Kwisatz Haderach,” piped up a small voice, startling Fenring. He sprang from the bed, ready to attack. Little Marie sat calmly on a makeshift seat just inside the door. She had an innocent, yet amused look on her small face.
“How long have you been there?” Fenring demanded.
“I was watching. I was learning. You are both very interesting.”
Fenring had never been particularly prudish, and Lady Margot certainly wasn’t, but the idea of their daughter simply observing during their lovemaking both disoriented and embarrassed him. In a very real sense, it was much worse than the inquisitive eyes of the Tleilaxu.
“You must learn to respect the boundaries of privacy,” her mother said.
“That is not what you’ve taught me. You trained me to be invisible, so that I could spy. Did I not do a good job?”
Lady Margot didn’t quite know what to say. At last, Fenring chuckled. For countless centuries, children had been wandering in upon their parents having sex, but it should be accidental. Not a planned thing.
“Yes, you have learned well, Marie,” he said wryly. “You have certainly taught us to be more careful.”
11
