Dune_ House Atreides - Brian Herbert [95]
Now he just had to find Duke Paulus Atreides.
History allows us to see the obvious—but unfortunately, not until it is too late.
—PRINCE RAPHAEL CORRINO
When he surveyed Leto’s bedraggled black hair, his dust-smeared clothes, and the perspiration streaks down his cheeks, Rhombur actually chuckled. He meant no insult by his response, but seemed incapable of believing the preposterous story Leto had told. He stood back and assessed his friend. “Vermilion hells! Don’t you think you’re, uh . . . overreacting a bit, Leto?”
Rhombur strode over to one of the broad windows. Alcoves all along the wall of the stocky Prince’s room displayed handpicked geological oddities, his delight and pride. Far beyond the amenities of his station as the Earl’s son, Rhombur found joy in his collection of minerals, crystals, and gems. He could have purchased more magnificent specimens many times over, but the Prince had personally found each rock in his own explorations of cave floors and small tunnels.
But in all his explorations, Rhombur—indeed, the entire Vernius ruling family—had been blind to the unrest among the workers. Now Leto understood why the Old Duke had insisted that his son learn to read his subjects and know the mood of the populace. “At the heart of it all, lad, we rule at their sufferance,” Paulus had told him, “though thankfully most of the population doesn’t realize it. If you’re a good enough ruler, none of your people will think to question it.”
As if embarrassed by Leto’s dramatic news and rumpled appearance, the tousle-haired young man peered down at the swirling masses of workers in the production yards below. Everything seemed quiet, business as usual. “Leto, Leto . . .” He pointed a pudgy finger at the apparently content lower classes who labored like dutiful drones. “Suboids can’t even decide for themselves what to eat for dinner, much less band together and start a rebellion. That takes too much . . . initiative.”
Leto shook his head, still panting. His sweaty hair clung to his forehead. He felt more shaky now that he was safe, sitting slumped in a comfortable self-forming chair in Rhombur’s private quarters. When he’d been fleeing for his life, he had reacted on instinct alone. Now, trying to relax, he couldn’t keep his pulse from racing. He took a long gulp of sour cidrit juice from a goblet on Rhombur’s breakfast tray.
“I’m only reporting what I saw, Rhombur, and I don’t imagine threats. I’ve seen enough real ones to know the difference.” He leaned forward, his gray eyes flashing at his friend. “I tell you, something’s going on. The suboids were talking about overthrowing House Vernius, tearing down what you’ve built, and taking Ix for themselves. They were preparing for violence.”
Rhombur hesitated, as if still waiting to hear the punch line. “Well, I’ll tell my father. You can give him your version of the events, and I’m, uh, sure he’ll look into the matter.”
Leto’s shoulders sagged. What if Earl Vernius ignored the problem until it was too late?
Rhombur brushed down his purple tunic and smiled, then scratched his head in perplexity. It seemed to take great stamina for him to address the subject again; he appeared genuinely baffled. “But . . . if you’ve been down there, Leto, you see that we take care of the suboids. They’re given food, shelter, families, jobs. Sure, maybe we take the lion’s share of the profits . . . that’s the way of things. That’s our society. But we don’t abuse our workers. What can they possibly complain about?”
“Maybe they see it differently,” Leto said. “Physical oppression isn’t the only kind of abuse.”
Rhombur brightened, then extended his hand. “Come, my friend. This might just make an interesting twist for our political lectures today. We can use it as a hypothetical case.”
Leto followed, more saddened than distraught. He was afraid the Ixians would never see this trouble as anything more than an interesting political discussion.
From the tallest spire of the Grand Palais, Earl Dominic Vernius ruled an industrial empire hidden from outside view. The