Dune_ House Atreides - Brian Herbert [37]
“Ah, yes, more ideas from the Assassins’ Handbook, I suppose. Be careful with that information. You can get in a lot of trouble with it.”
“Timid people are destined for nothing better than timid jobs. You and I, Shaddam, have much more in our futures. Think of the possibilities, hypothetically of course. Besides, what’s wrong with poison? It works nicely and affects only the targeted person, as required by the Great Convention. No collateral deaths, no loss of revenue, no destruction of inheritable property. Nice and neat.”
“Poisons are for House-to-House assassinations, not for what you’re talking about.”
“You didn’t complain when I took care of Fafnir, hm-m-m-m-ah? He’d be in his sixties now, still waiting to taste the throne. Do you want to wait that long?”
“Stop,” Shaddam insisted, digging in his heels. “Don’t even imagine such a course. This isn’t right.”
“And denying you your birthright is? How effective an Emperor would you be if you couldn’t exercise power until you were old and senile—like your father? Look what’s happened on Arrakis. By the time we replaced Abulurd Harkonnen, the damage to spice production was already done. Abulurd had no idea how to crack the whip, so the workers didn’t respect him. Now the Baron cracks it too much, and so morale is way down, leading to rampant defections and sabotage. But you can’t really blame the Harkonnens. It all traces back to your father, the Padishah Emperor, and the bad decisions he’s made.” He continued more quietly. “You owe it to the stability of the Imperium.”
Shaddam glanced up at the ceiling, as if searching for spy-eyes or other listening devices, though he knew that Fenring kept his private penthouse impeccably shielded and regularly scanned. “What kind of poison are you considering? Hypothetically speaking, only?” Again he stared across the lights of the city at the Imperial Palace. The shimmering structure seemed like a legendary grail, an unattainable prize.
“Perhaps something slow-acting, hm-m-m-m? So Elrood will appear to be aging. No one will question what’s happening, since he’s so old already. Leave it to me. As our future Emperor, you shouldn’t concern yourself with the details of such matters—I have always been your expediter, remember?”
Shaddam chewed his lower lip. No one in the Imperium knew more about this man than he did. But could his friend ever turn on him? Possibly . . . though Fenring knew full well his best path to power lay through Shaddam. How to keep this ambitious friend under control, how to stay a step ahead of him—that was the challenge.
Emperor Elrood IX, aware of Hasimir Fenring’s deadly skills, had made use of him in a number of clandestine operations, all of which had been successful. Elrood even suspected Fenring’s role in Crown Prince Fafnir’s death, but accepted it as part of Imperial politics. Over the years, Fenring had murdered at least fifty men and a dozen women, some of whom had been his lovers, of either sex. He took a measure of pride in being a killer who could face the victim or strike behind his back, without compunction.
There were days Shaddam wished he and the pushy Fenring had never formed a boyhood relationship: Then he wouldn’t be hemmed in with difficult choices that he didn’t want to think about. Shaddam should have abandoned his crib-companion as soon as he could walk. It was risky to be around such an unrelenting assassin, and at times he felt tainted by the association.
Still, Fenring was his friend. There was an attraction between them, an undefinable something of which they’d spoken on occasion without fully understanding it. For the present Shaddam found it easier to accept the friendship—and for his own sake, he hoped it was friendship—instead of trying to sever it. That course of action could be extremely dangerous.
Close beside him, Shaddam heard a voice that broke his train of thought. “Your favorite brandy, my Prince.” Looking to one side, Shaddam saw Fenring