Dune_ House Atreides - Brian Herbert [264]
The tall guard’s body split at the waist, as if breaking in half—and a pair of Tleilaxu men spun around to face him, each a leathery-faced dwarf. One leaped down from the shoulders of the other and tumbled to the floor. They were both dressed in tight black outfits that showed every rippling, thick muscle.
The Tleilaxu assassins moved away from one another, circling him. Their tiny eyes glittered like buckshot. Something gleamed in each of their hands—four weapons, indistinct but assuredly deadly. Leaping wildly at Leto, one of the Tleilaxu screeched, “Die, powindah devil!”
In a flash, Leto considered crawling under the desk or the cart, but first he decided to even the odds by killing one of the attackers . . . to keep them from acting in a coordinated plan. With well-practiced aim, he hurled Hawat’s knife. It found its mark, pierced the dwarf’s jugular and knocked him backward.
A silvery dart whizzed by Leto’s ear, and now he rolled behind the holo-cart, which continued to project images above the desk. A second dart struck the wall beside his head, chipping the stone.
Then he heard the hum of a lasgun. An arc of purple light filled the room.
The second Tleilaxu’s body slammed into the holo-cart, knocking it over. His face oozed onto the floor, liquefied by the hot beam of light. His body collapsed near Leto’s hiding place.
Thufir Hawat and a Landsraad guard captain strode into the cell and looked down at Leto. Behind them, guards inspected the two black-clad bodies. A burned-meat odor hung in the air.
“Somehow they got past our security,” the captain said.
“I wouldn’t call that security,” Hawat snapped at him.
One of the guards said, “This one’s got a knife in his throat.”
“Where’d the knife come from?” The captain helped Leto to his feet. “Did you throw it, sir?”
Leto glanced at his Mentat, but left it for Hawat to answer. “With all your security, Captain,” Hawat said with a withering sneer, “how could anyone possibly smuggle a weapon in here?”
“I wrested it from one of the attackers,” Leto said, his expression confident. “Then I killed him with it.” He blinked his gray eyes. His body trembled with the after-rush of adrenaline. “I guess the Bene Tleilax couldn’t wait for the trial to be over.”
“Vermilion hells!” Rhombur said, stepping in and looking around at the mess. “On the, uh, bright side, this won’t look good for the Tleilaxu in the trial. If they were so sure of winning, why should they try to take justice into their own hands?”
Flushing in embarrassment, the guard captain turned to his men and directed them in the removal of the bodies and in the cleanup.
“The assassins fired two darts,” Leto said, pointing to where the needles had stuck.
“Be careful handling them,” Hawat said. “They’re probably poisoned.”
When Leto, Rhombur, and Hawat were alone again, the Mentat slipped a smuggled maula pistol into a bottom drawer of the desk.
“Just in case,” he said. “Next time a dagger might not be sufficient.”
As seen from orbit, the world of Ix is pristine and placid. But beneath its surface, immense projects are undertaken and great works are achieved. In this way, our planet is a metaphor for the Imperium itself.
—DOMINIC VERNIUS,
The Secret Workings of Ix
Smug and very satisfied, Hasimir Fenring extended to Shaddam a sheaf of covert documents written in the private language he and the Crown Prince had developed during their childhood. The grand audience hall echoed with every whisper and sound, but they could be confident in their own secrets. Shaddam sat wearily on the heavy throne, and the Hagal-crystal dais shone with inner illumination like a firelit aquamarine.
Fenring twitched with enough nervous energy for both of them. “These are files for the Major Houses of the Landsraad who will be sitting at the Atreides Trial by Forfeiture.” His large eyes were like black holes into the labyrinth of his mind.