Dune_ House Atreides - Brian Herbert [215]
Thufir Hawat joined him at the colonnaded portals, and they both passed out of the enormous Hall of Oratory as the Landsraad continued its business without them.
History demonstrates that the advancement of technology is not a steady upward curve. There are flat periods, upward spurts, and even reversals.
—Technology of the Imperium, 532nd Edition
While two shadowy figures watched, a bland-faced Dr. Yungar passed a Suk scanner over the old man, who lay ashen-faced on the bed as if drowning in voluminous coverings, embroidered sheets, and diaphanous netting. The diagnostic instrument hummed.
He won’t be needing his concubines ever again, Shaddam thought.
“The Emperor is dead,” Yungar announced, tossing his long iron-gray ponytail over his shoulder.
“Ah, yes. At least now he’s at peace,” Shaddam said in a low, husky voice, though a superstitious chill ran down his spine. Had Elrood known, at the very end, who had been responsible for his demise? Just before death, the ancient man’s reptilian eyes had focused on his son. With a twisting in his gut, the Crown Prince remembered the terrible day when the Emperor had discovered Shaddam’s complicity in the murder of his elder son Fafnir . . . and how the old man had chortled upon discovering that his younger child had been slipping contraceptives into the food of his own mother, Habla, so she couldn’t conceive another son and rival to him.
Had Elrood suspected this? Had he cursed his own son and heir with his dying thoughts?
Well, it was certainly too late to change his mind now. The ancient ruler was dead, at last, and Shaddam had been the cause of it. No, not him. Fenring. Let him be the scapegoat, if necessary. A Crown Prince could never admit such guilt.
Soon he would no longer be Crown Prince—he would be Emperor, at last. Padishah Emperor of the Known Universe. It was imperative, though, that he not show his excitement or triumph. He would wait until after the formal coronation.
“Not that this is unexpected,” Hasimir Fenring said at his side, his large head bowed low, weak chin tucked against his throat. “The poor man has been degenerating for some time, ah-mm-m-m-m.”
The Suk doctor folded his scanning instrument shut and slipped it into the pocket of his tunic. Everyone else had been ordered out of the room: the concubines, the guards, even Chamberlain Hesban.
“Something odd about this case, though,” Yungar said. “For days now I’ve had a feeling of unease . . . something more here than an old man dying of natural causes. We must be exceedingly cautious with our analysis, since it is the Emperor—”
“Was the Emperor,” Shaddam said, too quickly. Fenring made a subtle warning gesture to get his attention.
“My point exactly.” The Suk doctor brushed a hand across the black-diamond tattoo on his forehead. Shaddam wondered if he was just distressed that he would no longer receive extravagant fees for continuing treatment.
“My good Doctor, Emperor Elrood was ancient and under a great deal of stress.” In an odd benediction, Fenring bent down and placed his fingertips on the old man’s cold brow, which reminded Shaddam of a parchment-covered rock. “We who were closest to him saw visible changes in his health and mental capacity in, say, the past two years. It would be best if you do not voice innuendos and unfounded suspicions that could only damage the stability of the Imperium, especially in this difficult time, hm-m-m-m? Padishah Emperor Elrood IX was more than a hundred and fifty years old, with one of the longest reigns in the history of the Corrinos. Let us leave it at that.