Dune_ House Atreides - Brian Herbert [261]
“She, uh, didn’t ask for anything,” Rhombur said, surprised.
“Not yet, maybe,” Hawat said, “but those witches think in the long term.”
The Ixian Prince scratched his temple. “Her name is Margot. She’s in Lady Anirul’s entourage, here for the Imperial wedding, I suppose.”
Leto drew a quick breath as an idea occurred to him. “A Bene Gesserit is to be married to the Emperor. Is this Shaddam’s doing, then? In response to our message?”
“The Bene Gesserit aren’t errand girls for anyone,” Hawat said. “They’re notoriously independent. They made this offer because they wanted to, because it benefits them somehow.”
“I didn’t stop to wonder why she would come to me, of all people,” Rhombur said. “But think about it: Her offer could be of no advantage to us, unless Leto is indeed innocent.”
“I am!”
Hawat smiled at Rhombur in admiration. “Of course. But now we have proof that the Bene Gesserit know Leto’s telling the truth, too, else they would never have made such a suggestion.” He wondered what the Sisters knew, and what they hoped to gain.
“Unless they were testing me,” Leto suggested. “Just by accepting their Truthsayer, they’d know I wasn’t lying. If I turned them down, they’d be convinced I have something to hide.”
Standing by the cell wall, Hawat gazed through an armor-plaz window. “Be mindful that we’re in a trial that is a shell only. Prejudices exist against the Bene Gesserit as well and their arcane weirding ways. Truthsayers might betray their oath and lie for a greater purpose. Witchcraft, sorcery . . . Perhaps we should not be so quick to accept their help.”
“You think it’s a trick?” Leto asked.
“I always suspect deception,” the Mentat said. His eyes flashed. “It’s in my nature to do so.” He switched to Atreides hand signals and signed to Leto, “These witches may be on an Imperial errand after all. What alliances are hidden from us?”
The worst sort of alliances are those which weaken us. Worse still is when an Emperor fails to recognize such an alliance for what it is.
—PRINCE RAPHAEL CORRINO,
Discourses on Leadership
Crown Prince Shaddam did as little as possible to make the Tleilaxu representative feel comfortable or welcome in the Palace. Shaddam hated even being in the same room with him, but this meeting could not be helped. Heavily armed Sardaukar escorted Hidar Fen Ajidica through a back passageway, through maintenance corridors, down unmarked stairways, and finally behind a succession of barred doors.
Shaddam chose the most private room, a chamber so discreet it appeared on no printed floor plans. Long ago, a few years after the death of Crown Prince Fafnir, Hasimir Fenring had uncovered this place during his usual skulking around. Apparently, the hidden room had been used by Elrood in the early days of his interminable reign, when he had taken numerous unofficial concubines as well as those he formally adopted into his household.
A single table remained in the chill room, illuminated by new glowglobes dragged in for the occasion. The walls and floor smelled of dust. The sheets and blankets on the narrow bed against the wall were now little more than frayed fibers and lint. An ancient bouquet, now petrified into a clump of blackened leaves and stems, lay in a corner where it had been tossed decades ago. The place conveyed the desired impression, though Shaddam knew the Bene Tleilax were not known for their attention to subtleties.
Across the plain table, Hidar Fen Ajidica, swathed in his maroon robes, folded his grayish hands on the wooden surface. He blinked his close-set eyes and looked across at Shaddam. “You summoned me, Sire? I came from my researches at your command.”
Shaddam picked at a plate of glazed slig meat one of the guards had brought him, since he’d had no time today for a formal dinner. He savored the buttery mushroom sauce, then grudgingly nudged the platter toward Ajidica to offer his guest a morsel.
The diminutive man drew back and refused to touch the food. Shaddam frowned. “Slig