Sandworms of Dune - Brian Herbert [15]
Vendee wore a look of horror. “Of course not, Baron Harkonnen!”
Finally, they passed through a narrow corridor illuminated by smoking oil lamps. Glowglobes were too efficient and harsh for the Baron’s taste. He loved the dank, gritty smell of the air; it almost masked the other odors.
“Here we are!” The Baron pushed open a heavy wooden door and led the way into his fully stocked torture chamber. It had the traditional accoutrements: racks, masks, electrified chairs, and a strappado, by which a subject could be alternately hoisted into the air and dropped. “This is one of my new playrooms. My pride and joy.”
Vendee’s eyes opened wide in alarm. “I thought you said we were going to your wine cellar.”
“Why, over there, my good man.” With a good-natured expression, the Baron pointed to a table from which loose straps hung. A wine bottle and two glasses sat on top. He poured red wine into both glasses and handed one to his increasingly agitated guest.
Vendee glanced around, nervously eyeing the red stains on the table and rock floor. Spilled wine? “I have just made a long journey, and I’m tired. Maybe we should go back up to the main rooms. You will be absolutely delighted with the new items I’ve brought. Quite valuable relics, I assure you.”
The Baron fingered one of the straps on the table. “There is another matter, first.” He narrowed his eyes. From a side door a sunkeneyed boy marched in, carrying what looked like two ornate old weapons, disk handguns of ancient manufacture.
“Do these look familiar? Examine them carefully.”
Vendee held one weapon to examine it. “Oh, yes. The antique gun of Alia Atreides. Used by her own hands.”
“So you said.” Taking the other handgun from the serving boy, the Baron said to Vendee, “You sold me a fake. I happen to know that the gun you hold is not the original weapon used by Alia.”
“I have a reputation for integrity, Baron. If anyone has told you otherwise, they are lying.”
“Unfortunately for you, my source is beyond reproach.”
You are lucky to have me inside you to point out your mistakes, Alia said. If you believe I am real.
Indignantly, Vendee placed the gun on the table and turned to leave. He only made it halfway to the door.
The Baron pulled the trigger of his own weapon, and a large, spinning disk shot out and hit the dealer squarely in the back of his neck, decapitating him. Swiftly, smoothly. The Baron was sure it hadn’t hurt a bit.
“Good shot, eh?” The Baron grinned at the serving boy.
The servant did not flinch at the murder. “Will that be all you desire from me, sir?”
“You don’t expect me to clean up this mess myself, do you?”
“No, my Lord. I will get right to it.”
“Then wash yourself afterward.” The Baron looked him over. “We’ll have even more fun this afternoon.” Meanwhile, he went back upstairs to study what the antique dealer had brought with him.
Once, I was born of a natural mother, and then reborn many times as a ghola. Considering the millennia over which the Bene Gesserit, the Tleilaxu, and others have meddled with the gene pool, I wonder—are any of us truly natural anymore?
—ship’s log, entry of
DUNCAN IDAHO
Today, Gurney Halleck would be born again. Paul Atreides had looked forward to this during the months-long gestation process. Since the recent birth of his sister Alia, the waiting had become nearly unbearable. But in a matter of hours, Gurney would be removed from the axlotl tank. The famed Gurney Halleck!
In his studies under Proctor Superior Garimi, Paul had read much about the troubadour warrior, had seen images of the man and heard recordings of his songs. But he wanted to know the real Gurney, his friend, mentor, and protector from an epic time. Someday, though their ages were topsy-turvy now, the two would remember how close their friendship had been.
Paul couldn’t keep the grin off his face as he rushed to get ready. Whistling an old Atreides song that he’d learned from Gurney’s recorded collection, he stepped into the corridor, and Chani emerged from her own quarters to join him. Two years his junior,