Dalak was deeply frightened. Count Fenring would never have acted so, even in the direst of circumstances. “Sire, there has been a misunderstanding. I can prove my worth to you. Let me speak to my cousin. I can convince him to return to Salusa. I know I can! I will do anything you ask.”
“Since Dalak is such a loyal subject,” Shaddam said to the Bashar, “you’d best give him the weapon. I may need him to use it in my service.”
Without questioning, Garon handed the deadly device to Dalak, who accepted it reluctantly. Shaddam saw Garon rest his hand on the hilt of his sword so that the weapon could be drawn quickly if necessary. Shaddam thought, A
In an icy tone, the fallen Emperor gave patient instructions to his son-in-law. “First, some basic information. To fire the weapon, lift that panel with one of your nice long fingernails and press the button beneath. Now, do you see where the darts come out?”
Dalak scowled at the device. “Uh… yes. Y-you want me to kill someone with this, Majesty? Who displeases you?”
“Don’t point it in the wrong direction.” He spoke as he would to a child. “Do you have the courage to use it?”
The man swallowed hard, looked at his wife, and then said with false bravado, “If you command me to do so, my Emperor.” He seemed to think he could get out of this.
“Good.” Shaddam gave his daughter a pitying glance, but she seemed intrigued rather than frightened. Although he hadn’t told Wensicia about the thefts before today, the two of them had already discussed Dalak in detail and decided he was not the complete sycophantic fool he appeared to be. “Now, access the button, point the weapon at your own head, and fire.”
“Sire!” He scowled like a stubborn little boy. “Is this some sort of test?”
“Yes, a test. You have already proved your flaws and your guilt. Can you prove your loyalty?” Shaddam turned to the Sardaukar commander. “Bashar Garon, are you willing to give your life if House Corrino requires it?”
“Always, Sire.”
“So, a mere soldier is more loyal than my own son-in-law. Wensicia, you have made a bad choice of husbands.”
“He was supposed to be more than that,” Wensicia said.
“Marrying him should have been a peace offering to Count Fenring, but apparently Hasimir is no more impressed with this man than I am. Therefore, I see little point in keeping him around. Dalak has done his duty, gotten you pregnant so that you bore me a male heir, at last.” He looked over at the crates of recovered family treasures. “But I shall not abide treachery against me, and I despise thieves.”
The young man was both angry and terrified. “If this is how the Imperial family sees me, then I will gladly leave Salusa Secundus.”
“You’ll leave, but not in the manner you’d prefer.” Shaddam nodded to the stoic Sardaukar commander, feigning terror. “Oh dear, Bashar! Look, this man is pointing a deadly weapon in my presence! Protect us from this fanatic and his dart pistol. Kill him.”
Dalak dropped the weapon as if it had stung him, and he raised his hands, backing away. “I am not armed. I am no threat.”
Hesitantly, Bashar Garon slid his Sardaukar sword from its scabbard. The well-honed blade gleamed in the light of the room. “Are you certain, Sire? I would rather blood this in battle, than against an unarmed fool.”
“But you will do it if I command you?”
Garon did not look pleased. “Of course.”
“Oh, enough of this!” Wensicia snatched the dart pistol from the floor and without flinching fired an array of tiny darts into her husband’s chest. Little flowers of red bloomed on his shirt, and he dropped to his knees, crying and whining. She leaned close to his ashen face, as if she meant to give him a last kiss on the cheek. “When he grows older, I’ll tell Farad’n what a gallant, strong man his father was, and how you died defending us. History sometimes requires little fictions like that. We’ll say that one of those renegade prisoners broke through security, and you saved us all.”
Dalak wasn’t listening anymore. He slumped to the floor and died.
“So much easier than a divorce.” Wensicia tossed the dart pistol at the body. Watching her, both surprised and impressed, Shaddam thought this daughter was better suited to ruling than her older sister Irulan was.
As Garon resheathed his still-clean sword, Shaddam noticed that the soldier looked troubled by what he had just witnessed. “I apologize for this unpleasantry, Bashar, but it was unavoidable. A matter of cleaning house.”
The craggy-faced commander bowed his head in acknowledgement. “There is still the matter of sending a representative to Muad’Dib’s Great Surrender ceremony, Sire.”
Briefly, Shaddam considered sending the dead body of Dalak — now that would be an insult! “Does the summons require my ambassador to be alive?”
“I will go,” Wensicia said, a little too eagerly. “As the daughter of Shaddam Corrino IV, I will speak on your behalf.”
Rugi burst into the room carrying the baby, even though she had not been summoned. The teether in Farad’n’s mouth had once been used by Rugi herself, and bore a golden lion crest. Seeing the dead body on the floor, she almost dropped the child. “Oh! What happened to poor Dalak?”
“A terrible accident,” Wensicia said. “Lock the door behind you, please.”
Rugi did so. Nervously, the young woman with light brown hair stepped around the corpse and passed the child to Wensicia. “Your poor husband! Shouldn’t we call someone?”
“There’s nothing to be done.” Wensicia brushed the baby’s dark hair out of his eyes. “You are not to discuss this with anyone until I have given you instructions. But first we are deciding who will go to a party.”
Rugi’s face showed her confusion. “We’re having a party?”
Shaddam smiled at the baby and said, “Perhaps we should send little Farad’n. No mistaking that message.”
Wensicia vehemently shook her head. “Farad’n is your only male heir, Father! He would be too vulnerable on Arrakis. Irulan might even kill the baby out of jealousy, since she hasn’t been able to bear an heir of her own.”
Shaddam paced in front of the window, then focused his gaze on Rugi. The youngest and most worthless of the brood he’d had with Anirul, Rugi was meek and empty-headed. Before his downfall on Arrakis he had expected to marry her into an important Landsraad house, but since the exile of the Corrino leader, suitors were likely to be men as dismal as Dalak Zor-Fenring.
The former Padishah Emperor smiled to himself. Perhaps Rugi might be useful to him after all. Sending his youngest and least valued daughter to the Great Surrender would also convey a clear message to Muad’Dib.
3
It is a delusion to believe that anyone can be controlled completely.
In the weeks after they met Dr. Ereboam’s Kwisatz Haderach candidate, Count Fenring was interested to learn more about how the Tleilaxu had applied Twisting procedures to Thallo in an attempt to control him. With little Marie in tow, the Count and Lady Margot followed the albino researcher into an organic-looking, eight-story building filled with exotic testing machinery.
There, in a laboratory chamber, a large machine whirled an experimental subject around and around inside an oval capsule attached to a long metal arm. The capsule went up and down, in and out and around, subjecting the occupant to very high accelerations and gravitational stresses.
Marie stared at the contraption. “I would like to try that.”
Lady Margot felt immediately protective. “Not now, dear child. It isn’t safe.”
