Paul of Dune

turned away from her.

The Abbess took her seat without uttering a word. Paul wondered if he should introduce himself, ask his questions. Duncan’s fist clenched where it rested on the tabletop.

After a lengthy and unpleasant moment, the woman reached up with black-gloved hands to touch the sides of her hood, hesitated as though afraid, and then pulled back the fabric to reveal dark, wavy brown hair shot through with silver-gray. She peeled down the mesh that obscured her face, and Paul gazed for the first time upon his paternal grandmother.

Her features were lean and severe, but he recognized hints of his father’s face. Lady Helena of House Richese had married Duke Paulus Atreides, and clearly she had not forgotten her regal bearing. She spoke in a voice that seemed ragged and rusty from disuse. “For now, at this meal, I will acknowledge that I am your grandmother, boy. But do not expect a loving welcome or celebratory feast.”

“Nevertheless, we expect courtesy and your guarantee of safety,” Duncan warned.

“Courtesy…” Helena seemed to consider this. “You ask for a great deal.”

Goire stood, startling the gathered women. “And you will give it to them. They have every right to make this request of us, and we have every obligation to grant it.”

Helena’s lips pursed in a scowl. “Very well. You are here, and I will learn why… but later. For now, let us eat in peace. And silence.”

6

Politics is a tangled web, an intricate labyrinth, an ever-shifting kaleidoscopic pattern. And it is not pretty.

—COUNT HASIMIR FENRING

Baron Harkonnen sat in a swollen, self-adjusting chair in the back row of the Landsraad Hall of Oratory, waiting for the shouting match to begin and hoping that his name would not be mentioned. He had wearied of biding his time on Giedi Prime, hoping for any hint of news about poor Duke Leto’s wedding-day tragedy and the murder of his innocent son (if the secondary assassins had completed their mission). Finally, unable to quell his impatience, he had decided on an unannounced trip to Kaitain to attend to “business matters.” No one would think anything of it.

And so, he happened to be in the Imperial city when the Mentat Thufir Hawat from House Atreides and the official Ecazi ambassador stationed on Kaitain called an emergency session of the Landsraad and demanded a judgment from the Emperor himself.

They must be very upset indeed. Oh dear. Word of the massacre quickly spread, and the Baron was disappointed to learn that Duke Leto and his son Paul had survived. So far.

Viscount Hundro Moritani was also conveniently in the Imperial city, as if he had come here just waiting to be accused. That was both provocative and foolish, the Baron thought. Tactically, the smart thing would have been for the Viscount to go home and shore up his defenses against the combined Atreides and Ecazi retaliation that was sure to come. What was he doing here? The Baron had gone out of his way to avoid seeing the man, not sure what the vitriolic Grumman leader might be up to.

The gathered nobles in the Hall of Oratory took their assigned seats with an air of hushed anticipation. Many of them were clearly disturbed by what they had heard. The box reserved for House Moritani was conspicuously empty. Was the man insane enough to defy an Imperial summons? Possibly.

Far below, Shaddam IV called the session to order from an ornate podium on the central dais. “I summon Viscount Hundro Moritani of Grumman to face the charges being leveled here today.” The Emperor raised his hand toward the vaulted ceiling, and a clearplaz bubble descended on suspensors.

Inside the transparent ball stood a tall, angular man who wrapped himself proudly in a fur-lined yellow robe. The Viscount’s indignant, heavily accented voice was transmitted through speakers around the auditorium. “Why have I been imprisoned before I have been charged with any offense? Am I to be on display like a zoo animal before this chamber of my peers?”

The Emperor was entirely unperturbed. “The confinement is for your own protection.”

“I need no protection! I demand that you release me so that I can stand before my accusers.”

Shaddam brushed at something on his gilded sleeve. “Perhaps some members of the audience feel they need to be protected from you? A formal complaint has been lodged against Grumman.” He tapped a sheet of ridulian crystal before him, as if perusing a news report. “The matters before us today concern alleged flaws in the declaration and prosecution of a legal War of Assassins. There are prescribed rules, and part of my job is to remind you of them — all of you.” Shaddam looked around the Hall of Oratory, seemed to hear resounding agreement, then gave instructions for the transparent holding chamber to be opened.

Viscount Moritani stood large and ruffled before the crowd; his thick hair was mussed. “Very well, then let us discuss what I have done. And let all hear the crimes committed against my House as well.” He glared around, perhaps looking for Baron Harkonnen, though he didn’t appear to see the Baron yet among the hundreds of representatives.

Despite his bulk, the Baron tried to withdraw unobtrusively into the shadows, sinking into the self-adjusting chair.

The female Ecazi ambassador stepped forward beside Hawat and said in an erudite voice, “Crimes were committed, indeed. We will present our evidence and let the Emperor and the Landsraad decide.” Without further encouragement, she began her recital of the major events in the ongoing feud: the biological sabotage of fogtree forests, the murder of ambassadors, the carpet bombing of Ecaz; then the expulsion of all Grumman students from the Swordmaster school on Ginaz, followed by the startling attack that leveled Ginaz, and the murder of the Archduke’s brother and eldest daughter.

As he listened, Viscount Moritani was at first stoic and then showed bitter amusement. The Landsraad members began an ugly grumbling; the Baron thought it did not bode well.

Thufir Hawat now took his turn, stepping forward. “But that was only the beginning, my Lords. These images speak for themselves.”

The audience of nobles sat in horrified silence, and the Baron watched with eager anticipation as recordings of the mayhem during the wedding ceremony were played for all to see, culminating in the Viscount Moritani delivering his damning holographic message. To the Baron’s great relief, no one mentioned the Harkonnen name.

Shaddam silenced the resulting uproar by banging his enhanced gavel. The Ecazi ambassador spoke again, so furious that her entire body shook. “Throughout this dispute, House Ecaz committed no illegal act. Even in the earlier phase, our Archduke formally declared kanly, as required. We responded only under the strict rules of a War of Assassins, as laid down in the Great Convention. We did nothing to provoke this vicious and irrational violence from House Moritani.”

The Viscount slammed a fist against the secondary podium. “You let my only son die by denying him the drug needed to cure his disease! You murdered Wolfram as surely as if you had sent an assassin to plunge a dagger into his heart! My poor son — my only heir! — was an innocent bystander targeted by Ecazi hatred.”

The Baron pursed his lips, but remained silent. Someone would probably point out that the killing of a son and heir was, strictly speaking, perfectly allowed under the terms of a War of Assassins.

The female ambassador remained unruffled. “All members of the Landsraad know Archduke Armand as a great humanitarian. Show us any formal request you made for such drugs. Prove to those assembled here that Ecaz ever directly denied your son medical treatment.” She looked at him coldly. “Considering your past behavior, Viscount, it is more likely that you allowed your son to die so you would have an excuse for more violence.”

Moritani turned purple with rage. Before the man could stalk down from the central stage, Sardaukar guards moved closer, ready to confine him within the clearplaz bubble again, should it prove necessary.

Emperor Shaddam pointed a stern finger. “Enough. This must not get out of hand.”

Hawat answered in a strong voice. “Out of hand, Sire? House Moritani has struck not only against Ecaz but