Hunters of Dune - Brian Herbert [85]
But if he tried any of that, the Face Dancers would hunt him down and capture him, punish him. He didn’t dare risk their wrath. So he meekly followed along.
Maybe Khrone would be so pleased to see the Baron child that he would simply free Uxtal, reward him for his service, and send him away. The Lost Tleilaxu researcher could cling to unrealistic hopes. . . .
He and young Vladimir were taken to temporary quarters in a hostelry on the outskirts of the village. The boy ghola complained that he wanted to throw rocks in the water and at the boats, or poke into the market stalls where sellers gutted the fish, but Uxtal made excuses, delaying the restless child while they waited in their chilly, rustic room. Vladimir began to ransack every cabinet and hiding place he could find. Uxtal clung to the knowledge that at least the Honored Matres were far away.
A nondescript man appeared at the door of their room. He looked like any other villager, but a rash of goose bumps stippled Uxtal’s skin. “I have come to take the Baron ghola. We must test him.”
He heard an odd sound, as of bones cracking and shifting. The man’s face metamorphosed until the blank cadaverous face of Khrone stared back at him with ink-pit eyes.
“Y-yes,” Uxtal said. “The boy is progressing quite nicely. Seven years old now. However, it would be very helpful to me if I knew what you want him for. Very helpful.”
Vladimir watched the Face Dancer with curious awe. He had never seen one of the shape-shifters revert to its blank state. “Great trick. Can you teach me to change my face like that?”
“No.” Khrone turned back to the Tleilaxu. “When I originally asked you to grow this ghola, I did not know who he was. When I learned his identity, I still did not know if the Baron Harkonnen would do us any good, but I thought that he might. Now I have discovered a wonderful possibility.” He took the boy’s hand, and led him away. “Wait here, Uxtal.”
So the diminutive researcher remained alone in his primitive room, wondering how much longer he would be permitted to live. In another situation he might have enjoyed the moment of peace, the quiet relaxation, but he was too afraid. What if the Face Dancers found some flaw in the ghola? Why did they need him here on Dan? Would Khrone throw him back into the clutches of Matre Superior Hellica? The Face Dancers had left him among the Honored Matres for years. Uxtal didn’t know how much more he could stand. He couldn’t believe Hellica had let him live, or that the withered old Ingva hadn’t yet tried to bond him sexually. He closed his eyes and swallowed the moan in his throat. So many things could go wrong if he went back there. . . .
To calm himself, he began a traditional cleansing ritual. Standing next to an open window and facing the ocean, he dipped a white cloth into a bowl of water and washed his naked chest. It had been so long since he’d been able to adequately perform the personal bodily ablutions required by his religion. People were always spying on him, intimidating him. After he finished, Uxtal meditated outside on a small wooden balcony that overlooked the fishing village. He prayed by mentally rearranging numbers and signs, searching for the truth in the holy patterns.
The door of the room burst open and the ghola child ran in, flushed and laughing. He carried a dripping knife and dodged among the rough furniture as if playing some sort of game. His clothes were covered in wet mud and blood.
Khrone followed the boy into the room at a more sedate pace, carrying a small parcel in his arms. He had reverted to his innocuous guise of a bland-featured man. Chuckling, young Vladimir called for Khrone to hurry.
Uxtal quickly intercepted the boy. “What are you doing with that knife?” He extended a hand to take the weapon away.
“I was playing with a baby slig. They have a little pen of them in the village, but none