Dune_ House Atreides - Brian Herbert [57]
“Nevertheless, you will hear what I have to say.” Her voice was iron.
Seeing the blustering rage building within the Baron, Piter de Vries stepped forward. “Need I remind you, Reverend Mother, where you are? We did not invite you to come here.”
“Perhaps I should remind you,” she snapped at the Mentat, “that we are capable of running a detailed analysis of all Harkonnen spice-production activities on Arrakis—the equipment used, the manpower expended, compared with spice production actually reported to CHOAM, as opposed to our own precise projections. Any anomalies should be quite . . . revealing.” She raised her eyebrows. “We’ve already done a preliminary study, based upon firsthand reports from our”—she smiled—“sources.”
“You mean spies,” the Baron said, indignantly.
She could see that he regretted these words as soon as they were uttered, for they hinted at his culpability.
The Baron stood up, flexing his arm muscles, but before he could counter Mohiam’s innuendo, de Vries interjected, “Perhaps it would be best if we made this a private meeting, just between the Reverend Mother and the Baron? There’s no need to turn a simple conversation into a grand spectacle . . . and matter of record.”
“I agree,” Mohiam said quickly, assessing the twisted Mentat with a glint of approval. “Why don’t we adjourn to your chambers, Baron?”
He pouted, his generous lips forming a dark rose. “And why should I take a Bene Gesserit witch into my private quarters?”
“Because you have no choice,” she said in a low, hard voice.
In shock, the Baron mused at her audacity, but then he laughed out loud. “Why not? We can’t get any less pretentious than that.”
De Vries watched them both with narrowed eyes. He was reconsidering his suggestion, running data through his brain, figuring probabilities. The witch had jumped too quickly at the idea. She wanted to be alone with the Baron. Why? What did she have to do in private?
“Allow me to accompany you, my Baron,” de Vries said, already strutting toward the door that would take them through halls and suspensor tubes to the Baron’s private suite.
“This matter is best kept between the Baron and myself,” Mohiam said.
Baron Harkonnen stiffened. “You don’t command my people, witch,” he said in a low, menacing tone.
“Your instructions then?” she asked, insolently.
A moment’s hesitation, and: “I grant your request for a private audience.”
She tipped her head in the slightest of bows, then glanced behind her at her acolytes and guards. De Vries caught a flicker of her fingers, some sort of witch hand signal.
Her birdlike eyes locked on to his, and de Vries drew himself up as she said, “There is one thing you can do, Mentat. Be so kind as to make certain my companions are welcomed and fed, since we won’t have time to stay for pleasantries. We must return posthaste to Wallach IX.”
“Do it,” Baron Harkonnen said.
With a look of dismissal toward de Vries, as if he were the lowest servant in the Imperium, she followed the Baron out of the hall. . . .
Upon entering his chambers, the Baron was pleased to note that he had left his soiled clothes in a pile. Furniture lay in disarray, and a few red stains on the wall had not been sufficiently scrubbed. He wanted to emphasize that the witch did not deserve fine treatment or a particularly well-planned welcome.
Placing his hands on his narrow hips, he squared his shoulders and raised his firm chin. “All right, Reverend Mother, tell me what it is you want. I have no time for further word games.”
Mohiam released a small smile. “Word games?” She knew that House Harkonnen understood the nuances of politics . . . perhaps not the kindhearted Abulurd, but certainly the Baron and his advisors. “Very well, Baron,” she said simply. “The Sisterhood has a use for your genetic line.