absence.”
Duncan said, “If he is the traitor, my Lord, he could be entrenching himself well.”
“Moritani is the force behind this attack,” Leto said with a growl. “If Duke Vidal played a role, it’s bound to be only a minor one.”
“It is likely neither one of them expected the Archduke to survive,” Thufir said. “By blocking all communication from Caladan, no one else knows what has really happened here.”
Looking weak and tired, Armand Ecaz came to stand in the doorway with all the dignity he could manage. His stump was cleanly bandaged, and he wore a simple Ecazi robe. His face was drawn and his eyes were red, but his gaze seemed clear and angry. The medics said he’d been refusing further painkillers.
“It is time for me to go home, Leto. I must bury my daughter, strengthen my household — and make my war plans against Grumman. That Moritani animal wasn’t targeting House Atreides. He saw this wedding as an easy way to get to me and my family. You were merely in the way.” He stood straighter, as if a formidable demeanor would push away the mental and physical pain. “I no longer have anything to lose, so I accept the Moritani challenge. The Viscount has opened the floodgates for a bloodbath the Imperium will never forget.”
2
I prefer bad news to no information whatsoever. Silence is like starvation.
Even though the grimy air of Harko City made the Baron cough, he still felt invigorated. For all its flaws and odors, he much preferred his own planet to hot and dusty Arrakis, gaudy Kaitain, or bleak Grumman. This was
He and Piter de Vries rode a slidewalk from the Keep, heading for a luncheon engagement with his nephews Rabban and Feyd. Both young men continued to vie for his attention, waiting for him to choose one or the other as his official successor. He was in no hurry to make his selection known. So far, neither one had proved himself to the Baron’s satisfaction.
As the walkway crossed a park cluttered with imposing statues of Harkonnen leaders, de Vries pointed out, “The birds have been perching on your head again, my Lord.”
The Baron noted a recently commissioned sculpture of himself as a lean and handsome young man, striking a heroic pose and holding a broadsword. He thought wistfully of the muscular body that had once been a source of so much pride for him, before that witch Mohiam inflicted him with a chronic malady. To his dismay, white streaks of bird excrement ran down the statue’s forehead into the bronze eyes.
“Another park attendant shall die,” the Baron said matter-of-factly.
As they approached, a worker ran desperately toward the statue with a ladder and cleaning materials, but it was too late. Seeing his vigorous attention to duty, the Baron mused, “On second thought, this maintenance problem must go higher up. Let us have the supervisor put to death as well. Arrange for a bird motif of some sort at the execution, gouge out his eyes with a beak-shaped tool or something, or use a talon device to rip his face to shreds. It’s the sort of thing Rabban would enjoy. We shall mention it to him at lunch.”
His oldest nephew was powerful and without a conscience, an excellent enforcer, and useful in his own way. Rabban’s much younger brother Feyd, though only fourteen, showed a greater deviousness and wit. That made him a more worthy candidate to be the Baron’s successor… and more dangerous.
“Maybe you should have your nephew kill the entire park staff and start over,” de Vries suggested. “He’s bound to do it anyway, unless you forbid him.”
The Baron shook his head. “That would be wasteful. Better to strike fear into them, but leave enough of them alive so that the work gets done. I never want to see excrement on my statues again.”
When the slidewalk reached the terrace level, the Baron and his Mentat disembarked. The pair made their way between tables of diners to a roped-off area that had been reserved for them, with a view of a smoky stone-oil refinery. Rabban and Feyd were already there.
Feyd, in fluid-fabric knickers with a tie and jacket, was feeding bits of bread to pigeons that hopped around on the pavement under the tables. Just as one bird got close to the young man, the stocky Rabban lunged off his chair, startling the bird into flight. Feyd looked at his older brother with poisonous annoyance.
The Baron adjusted his suspensor belt and eased into his seat after checking for bird droppings there, too. “It seems we have a pigeon problem that we must deal with.”
After de Vries explained about the soiled statues, Rabban predictably suggested executing the entire maintenance staff. Feyd, though, offered another idea. “Perhaps, Uncle, we could eradicate the birds instead.”
The Baron nodded thoughtfully. “Approaching the problem from a different perspective. Very good, Feyd. Yes, let us try that solution first.”
As the meal was delivered on overladen platters, de Vries lowered his voice while grinning through sapho- stained lips. “We have received no word yet, but Duke Leto’s wedding ceremony should have occurred yesterday. How lovely it must be on Caladan, with the flowers, the music and festivities… the blood of loved ones spilled at the altar.”
“Delightful images. I await the news… and the confirmation.” The Baron smiled as he visualized what had probably happened. “Poor Duke Leto and his bride lying dead amidst the flowers, while bumbling guards run around in circles, looking for culprits.”
“They will blame House Moritani, and probably Prad Vidal, but not Harkonnen,” the Mentat said. “Our second-wave operatives remain in place to clean up any mistakes there, but even they will be seen as Grumman assassins if they make a move. No Harkonnen fingerprints are on the scene. As far as anyone can see, Viscount Moritani charged in like a Salusan bull to avenge himself against Ecaz for the death of his son… and an Atreides Duke just happened to be in the line of fire. How sad! Such a tragic loss for the people of Caladan!”
“Nicely put.” The Baron held up his thick hands, showed the puffy palms. “We must always keep our hands clean.”
“As spotless as your statue is going to be from now on.”
The Baron scowled at the mocking reminder, causing de Vries to move himself out of reach.
“I can’t wait to hear the news,” Rabban said.
“We must not be overly anxious,” the Baron cautioned. “Make no inquiries of any kind. Let the announcement arrive here through regular channels, as it spreads throughout the Imperium. There’s bound to be quite an uproar.”
3
I have studied the habits of creatures on many planets, and one constant is apparent on world after world: Predators usually come out at night.
Castle Caladan was asleep, seemingly holding its breath. Even in daytime, the people rarely spoke above whispers. Though all windows were open and every skylight cleared, the castle was full of suspicious shadows. Security was tighter than at any other time in memory.
In happier times, Duke Leto kept a full staff of servants, cooks, cleaners, and maids; he welcomed aspiring artists to paint watercolors of the landscape as viewed from the high balconies. Not anymore. As Duncan Idaho stalked the halls carrying the Old Duke’s sword, it felt to him as if the castle had been wounded. Every person, even old familiar faces, underwent a thorough security scan prior to entering the fortress. Imposing such measures made Leto extraordinarily uncomfortable, but Thufir Hawat insisted.
