so sure of herself,” Paul said. “And the message Mother—”
“Precautions have been taken,” the Duke said. He looked around the room, and Paul marked the hunted wildness in his father’s eyes. “Remain here. There are some things about the command posts I want to discuss with Thufir.” He turned, strode out of the room, nodding shortly to the door guards.
Paul stared at the place where his father had stood. The space had been empty even before the Duke left the room. And he recalled the old woman’s warning: “… for the father, nothing.”
***
On that first day when Muad‘Dib rode through the streets of Arrakeen with his family, some of the people along the way recalled the legends and the prophecy and they ventured to shout: “Mahdi!” But their shout was more a question than a statement, for as yet they could only hope he was the one foretold as the Lisan al-Gaib, the Voice from the Outer World. Their attention was focused, too, on the mother, because they had heard she was a Bene Gesserit and it was obvious to them that she was like the other Lisan al-Gaib.
—from “Manual of Muad’Dib” by the Princess Irulan
THE DUKE found Thufir Hawat alone in the corner room to which a guard directed him. There was the sound of men setting up communications equipment in an adjoining room, but this place was fairly quiet. The Duke glanced around as Hawat arose from a paper-cluttered table. It was a green-walled enclosure with, in addition to the table, three suspensor chairs from which the Harkonnen “H” had been hastily removed, leaving an imperfect color patch.
“The chairs are liberated but quite safe,” Hawat said. “Where is Paul, Sire?”
“I left him in the conference room. I’m hoping he’ll get some rest without me there to distract him.”
Hawat nodded, crossed to the door to the adjoining room, closed it, shutting off the noise of static and electronic sparking.
“Thufir,” Leto said, “the Imperial and Harkonnen stockpiles of spice attract my attention.”
“M’Lord?”
The Duke pursed his lips. “Storehouses are susceptible to destruction.” He raised a hand as Hawat started to speak. “Ignore the Emperor’s hoard. He’d secretly enjoy it if the Harkonnens were embarrassed. And can the Baron object if something is destroyed which he cannot openly admit that he has?”
Hawat shook his head. “We’ve few men to spare, Sire.”
“Use some of Idaho’s men. And perhaps some of the Fremen would enjoy a trip off planet. A raid on Giedi Prime—there are tactical advantages to such a diversion, Thufir.”
“As you say, my Lord.” Hawat turned away, and the Duke saw evidence of nervousness in the old man, thought: Perhaps he suspects I distrust him. He must know I’ve private reports of traitors. Well-best quiet hisfears immediately.
“Thufir,” he said, “since you’re one of the few I can trust completely, there’s another matter bears discussion. We both know how constant a watch we must keep to prevent traitors from infiltrating our forces… but I have two new reports.”
Hawat turned, stared at him.
And Leto repeated the stories Paul had brought.
Instead of bringing on the intense Mentat concentration, the reports only increased Hawat’s agitation.
Leto studied the old man and, presently, said: “You’ve been holding something back, old friend. I should’ve suspected when you were so nervous during Staff. What is it that was too hot to dump in front of the full conference?”
Hawat’s sapho-stained lips were pulled into a prim, straight line with tiny wrinkles radiating into them. They maintained their wrinkled stiffness as he said: “My Lord, I don’t quite know how to broach this.”
“We’ve suffered many a scar for each other, Thufir,” the Duke said. “You know you can broach any subject with me.”
Hawat continued to stare at him, thinking: This is how I like him best. This is the man of honor who deserves every bit of my loyalty and service. Why must I hurt him?
“Well?” Leto demanded.
Hawat shrugged. “It’s a scrap of a note. We took it from a Harkonnen courier. The note was intended for an agent named Pardee. We’ve good reason to believe Pardee was top man in the Harkonnen underground here. The note—it’s a thing that could have great consequence or no consequence. It’s susceptible to various interpretations.”
“What’s the delicate content of this note?”
“Scrap of a note, my Lord. Incomplete. It was on minimic film with the usual destruction capsule attached. We stopped the acid action just short of full erasure, leaving only a fragment. The fragment, however, is extremely suggestive.”