Dune_ House Atreides - Brian Herbert [148]
The Baron heaved a deep breath and flexed his muscles. The preparations had to be perfect.
“You just take care of your part, Piter. I know what I’m doing.” He went to a small alcove, snatched up the decanter of kirana brandy, and took a long deep swig directly from the bottle. Feeling the brandy burn in his chest, he wiped his mouth and the top of the bottle.
The Baron had already imbibed more alcohol than was usual for him, perhaps more than was wise considering the ordeal he was about to face. De Vries, who recognized the Baron’s anxiety, looked at his master as if laughing at him. With a scowl, the Baron took another deep swallow, just to spite the Mentat.
De Vries scuttled about, relishing their joint plan, eager to participate. “Perhaps, Baron, the witch is returning here because she enjoyed her first encounter with you so much.” He cackled. “Do you think she’s been lusting after you ever since?”
The Baron scowled at him again—this time sharply enough that the Mentat wondered if he had pushed too far. But de Vries always managed to talk his way out of reprisals.
“Is that the best prime projection my Mentat can offer? Think, damn you! Why would the Bene Gesserit want another child from me? Are they just trying to twist the knife deeper, to make me hate them even more than I already do?” He snorted, wondered if that could be possible.
Maybe they needed two daughters for some reason. Or maybe something was wrong with the first one. . . . The Baron’s generous lips curved upward in a slight smile. This child would certainly be the last.
No evidence remained for the Bene Gesserit to use as blackmail. Lankiveil now hid the largest treasure of Harkonnen melange right under Abulurd’s nose. The fool had no inkling of how he was being used to cover the Baron’s secret activities. But though softhearted and softheaded, Abulurd was still a Harkonnen. Even if he discovered the deception, he wouldn’t dare expose it for fear of destroying his own family holdings. Abulurd revered the memory of their father too much for that.
The Baron walked away from the kirana brandy, and the sweet burning taste turned sour in the back of his mouth. He wore a loose maroon-and-black pajama top tightly sashed across his flat stomach. The pale blue griffin crest of House Harkonnen emblazoned the left breast. He’d left his arms bare to show off his biceps. His reddish hair was cut short, tousled for a rakish look.
He looked hard at de Vries. The Mentat gulped from a small bottle of deep red sapho juice. “Are we ready, my Baron? She’s waiting outside.”
“Yes, Piter.” He lounged back in a chair. His silky pants were loose, and the prying eyes of the Reverend Mother would be able to detect no bulge of a weapon—no expected weapon. He smiled. “Go and send her in.”
When Mohiam passed into the main hall of the Keep, Burseg Kryubi and his troops closed the doors behind her, remaining outside. The locks sealed with a click. Immediately on her guard, she noted that the Baron had orchestrated every detail of this encounter.
The two of them seemed to be alone in the long room, which was austere and cold, awash in glaring light. The entire Keep conveyed the impression of square corners and unsoftened harshness the Harkonnens loved so well; this place was more an industrial conference room than a sumptuous palace hall.
“Greetings again, Baron Harkonnen,” Mohiam said with a smile that overlaid politeness on top of her scorn. “I see you’ve been anticipating our meeting. Perhaps you’re even eager?” She looked away, glancing at her fingertips. “It’s possible I shall allow you a bit more pleasure this time.”
“Maybe so,” the Baron said, affably.
She didn’t like the answer. What is his game? Mohiam looked around, sensing the air currents, peering into shadows, trying to hear the heartbeat of some other