Dune_ House Atreides - Brian Herbert [182]
The fabric felt slick on his clean and lotioned skin. Attendants had scrubbed him, trimmed his hair, cleaned his fingernails. His body felt raw from the cleansing. White lace rode at the wrists above his callused hands. Working in the stables, his pristine condition would not last long.
Safe enough from the bull now, Duncan straightened the cap on his head. He watched the beast as it snorted, pawed the plank floor, and rammed the side of the cage again. Duncan shook his head in dismay and concern.
Turning, he spotted Yresk standing close beside him. The stablemaster nodded coolly at the ferocious Salusan bull, his puffy eyes haunted and tired. “Looks like he’s eager to fight our Duke.”
“Something’s still wrong, sir,” Duncan insisted. “I’ve never seen the animal this riled.”
Yresk raised his bushy eyebrows and scratched his shock of white hair. “Oh, in all your years of experience? I told you not to trouble yourself.”
Duncan bridled at the sarcasm. “Can’t you see it yourself, sir?”
“Stable-rat, Salusan bulls are bred to be vicious. The Duke knows what he’s doing.” Yresk crossed his scarecrow arms over his chest, but he didn’t move closer to the cage. “Besides, the more keyed-up this one is, the better he’ll fight, and our Duke certainly likes to give a good performance. His people love it.”
As if to emphasize Yresk’s point, the bull battered itself against the force field, bellowing a deep roar from the vast engine of its chest. Its horned head and leathery hide were gashed in places where it had injured itself trying to trample anything in sight.
“I think we should pick a different bull, Master Yresk.”
“Nonsense,” the other replied, growing more impatient now. “The Atreides’s own stable veterinarian has performed body tissue tests, and everything checked out. You should be ready for the paseo, not in here causing trouble. Run along now, before you miss your chance.”
“I’m trying to prevent trouble, sir,” Duncan insisted. He looked defiantly at Yresk. “I’m going to go talk to the Duke myself. Maybe he’ll listen.”
“You’ll do no such thing, stable-rat.” Moving like an eel, Yresk grabbed him by the slippery fabric of the costume. “I’ve been patient enough with you, for the Duke’s sake, but I can’t let you ruin his bullfight. Don’t you see all the people out there?”
Duncan struggled and cried for help. But the others had already lined up at the gates for the grand parade around the arena. The fanfare sounded a deafening note, and the crowd cheered in anticipation.
Without being unduly rough, Yresk tossed him into one of the empty stalls, turning on the containment field to keep him in it. Duncan stumbled onto piles of trampled feed smeared with green-brown manure.
“You can sit out the event here,” Yresk said, looking sad. “I should have known to expect trouble from you, a Harkonnen sympathizer.”
“But I hate the Harkonnens!” Duncan stood up, trembling with rage. His silk clothes were ruined. He hurled himself against the bars just as the bull had done, but he had no chance of escaping.
Brushing himself off to look presentable again, Yresk strode toward the arched openings for the paseo. The stablemaster flashed a glance over his shoulder. “The only reason you’re here, stable-rat, is because the Duke likes you. But I’ve run his stables for nigh on twenty years, and I know exactly what I’m doing. You just leave it be—I’ve got work to do.”
In the cage beside Duncan, the Salusan bull simmered like a boiler about to explode.
Duke Paulus Atreides stood in the center of the arena. He turned slowly, drawing energy from the enthusiasm of the crowd; residual heat rose from the packed stands. He flashed them all a sparkling, confident grin. They roared with approval. Oh, how his people loved to be entertained!
Paulus switched on his body-shield at partial setting. He would have to maneuver carefully for his protection. The element of danger kept him on his toes, and it made for greater suspense among the spectators. He held the muleta, a brightly colored cloth on a pole, which he would use to