Dune_ House Atreides - Brian Herbert [288]
Smiling, Fenring watched Margot go about her finishing tasks. She was a flow of bright colors and lovely honey-blonde hair, encouraging smiles, and sharp words for anyone who moved too slowly. What a magnificent woman! He and his new bride kept such fascinating secrets from each other, and the process of mutual discovery was proving most enjoyable.
By nightfall they would be dispatched to the desert planet, which the natives called Dune.
Later in the day, during a relaxed hour in which neither the Emperor nor his lifelong friend would utter the apologies that needed to be said, Fenring sat at the shield-ball console, waiting for Padishah Emperor Shaddam IV to make the next move. They sat alone in a plaz-walled retiring room at the top of one of the Palace pinnacles. Flitter-thopters buzzed by in the distance, higher than ribbon-festooned kites and gleam-bubbles.
Fenring hummed to himself, though he knew Shaddam hated the mannerism. Finally, the new Emperor slid a rod through the shimmering shield at precisely the correct speed—not too fast and not too slow. The aimed rod engaged a spinning interior disk, causing the black ball in the center of the globe to float into the air. Focusing hard, Shaddam yanked the rod free, and the ball plunked into the number “9” receptacle.
“You’ve been practicing, Sire, hm-m-m-m?” Fenring said. “Doesn’t an Emperor have more pressing duties? But you’ll need to do better than that to beat me.”
The Emperor stared at the rod he had just used, as if it had failed him.
“You want to change sticks, Sire?” Fenring offered, in a taunting tone. “Something wrong with that one?”
Shaddam shook his head stubbornly. “I’ll stay with this one, Hasimir—this will be our last game for some time.” He drew a deep breath, flaring his nostrils. “I told you I could handle things on my own.” He fumbled a bit. “But that doesn’t mean I no longer value your advice.”
“Naturally, Sire. That’s why you sent me to a dust pit populated by sandworms and unwashed barbarians.” Dispassionately, he stared past the shield-ball at Shaddam. “I think it’s a grave mistake, Highness. In these first days of your rule, you will require good, objective counsel more than ever before. You can’t handle it alone, and whom can you trust more than me?”
“Well, I handled the Leto Atreides crisis rather well. I alone avoided disaster.”
Delaying his turn at the shield-ball station, Fenring said, “I agree the result was favorable—but we still haven’t learned what he knows about us and the Tleilaxu.”
“I didn’t want to appear overly worried.”
“Um-m-ah-m-m. Maybe you’re right, but if you solved the problem, then tell me this: If not Leto, who really did fire on the Tleilaxu ships? And how?”
“I’m considering alternatives.”
Fenring’s overlarge eyes flashed. “Leto is incredibly popular now, perhaps even a threat to your throne one day. Whether he engineered the crisis or not, Duke Atreides has turned it into an undeniable victory for himself and the honor of his House. He overcame an insurmountable obstacle and behaved with marvelous grace. The members of the Landsraad notice things like that.”
“Ah yes, true, true . . . but nothing to worry about.”
“I’m not so certain, Sire. The discontent among the Houses might not have dissipated entirely, as we were led to believe.”
“We do have the Bene Gesserit on our side, thanks to my wife.”
Fenring sniffed. “Whom