no importance.” He motioned to his guard to take the two Sardaukar, signaled the lieutenant who had searched the prisoners.
The guard moved in, hustled the Sardaukar away.
Paul bent toward his lieutenant.
“Muad’Dib,” the man said. “I failed you in ….”
“The failure was mine, Korba,” Paul said. “I should’ve warned you what to seek. In the future, when searching Sardaukar, remember this. Remember, too, that each has a false toenail or two that can be combined with other items secreted about their bodies to make an effective transmitter. They’ll have more than one false tooth. They carry coils of shigawire in their hair—so fine you can barely detect it, yet strong enough to garrote a man and cut off his head in the process. With Sardaukar, you must scan them, scope them—both reflex and hard ray—cut off every scrap of body hair. And when you’re through, be certain you haven’t discovered everything.”
He looked up at Gurney, who had moved close to listen.
“Then we best kill them,” the lieutenant said.
Paul shook his head, still looking at Gurney. “No. I want them to escape.”
Gurney stared at him. “Sire ….” he breathed.
“Yes?”
“Your man here is right. Kill those prisoners at once. Destroy all evidence of them. You’ve shamed Imperial Sardaukar! When the Emperor learns that he’ll not rest until he has you over a slow fire.”
“The Emperor’s not likely to have that power over me,” Paul said. He spoke slowly, coldly. Something had happened inside him while he faced the Sardaukar. A sum of decisions had accumulated in his awareness. “Gurney,” he said, “are there many Guildsmen around Rabban?”
Gurney straightened, eyes narrowed. “Your question makes no ….”
“Are there?” Paul barked.
“Arrakis is crawling with Guild agents. They’re buying spice as though it were the most precious thing in the universe. Why else do you think we ventured this far into ….”
“It is the most precious thing in the universe,” Paul said. “To them.”
He looked toward Stilgar and Chani who were now crossing the chamber toward him. “And we control it, Gurney.”
“The Harkonnens control it!” Gurney protested.
“The people who can destroy a thing, they control it,” Paul said. He waved a hand to silence further remarks from Gurney, nodded to Stilgar who stopped in front of Paul, Chani beside him.
Paul took the Sardaukar knife in his left hand, presented it to Stilgar. “You live for the good of the tribe,” Paul said. “Could you draw my life’s blood with that knife?”
“For the good of the tribe,” Stilgar growled.
“Then use that knife,” Paul said.
“Are you calling me out?” Stilgar demanded.
“If I do,” Paul said, “I shall stand there without weapon and let you slay me.”
Stilgar drew in a quick, sharp breath.
Chani said, “Usul!” then glanced at Gurney, back to Paul.
While Stilgar was still weighing his words, Paul said: “You are Stilgar, a fighting man. When the Sardaukar began fighting here, you were not in the front of battle. Your first thought was to protect Chani.”
“She’s my niece,” Stilgar said. “If there’d been any doubt of your Fedaykin handling those scum ….”
“Why was your first thought of Chani?” Paul demanded.
“It wasn’t!”
“Oh?”
“It was of you,” Stilgar admitted.
“Do you think you could lift your hand against me?” Paul asked.
Stilgar began to tremble. “It’s the way,” he muttered.
“It’s the way to kill offworld strangers found in the desert and take their water as a gift from Shai-hulud,” Paul said. “Yet you permitted two such to live one night, my mother and myself.”
As Stilgar remained silent, trembling, staring at him, Paul said: “Ways change, Stil. You have changed them yourself.”
Stilgar looked down at the yellow emblem on the knife he held.
“When I am Duke in Arrakeen with Chani by my side, do you think I’ll have time to concern myself with every detail of governing Tabr sietch?” Paul asked. “Do you concern yourself with the internal problems of every family?”
Stilgar continued staring at the knife.
“Do you think I wish to cut off my right arm?” Paul demanded.
Slowly, Stilgar looked up at him.
“You!” Paul said. “Do you think I wish to deprive myself or the tribe of your wisdom and strength?”
In a low voice, Stilgar said: “The young man of my tribe whose name is known to me, this young man I could kill on the challenge floor, Shai-hulud willing. The Lisan al-Gaib, him I could not harm. You knew this when you handed me this knife.”
“I knew it,” Paul agreed.
Stilgar opened his hand. The knife clattered against the stone of the floor. “Ways change,” he said.
“Chani,” Paul said, “go to my mother, send