The Winds of Dune (21 page)

“I know I can get us inside.” Bronso searched among his belongings and withdrew two Ixian gadgets, bypass keys he could use on the Heighliner’s security systems. “You worry too much.” He sealed his pack and stood. “Ready?”

“I haven’t agreed to go.” Stalling, Paul stepped out of his soiled work coveralls, hung them in a small closet, and reached for a clean pair of trousers.

“If you’re afraid, just wait here. When I get back I’ll tell you about the experience.” Without another word, Bronso darted out into the corridor.

Torn between keeping himself out of trouble and watching out for his friend, Paul struggled into his clothes. By the time he ran after Bronso, the boy was nowhere in sight, but Paul knew where he must be
headed. He ran up four flights of back-deck stairs and crossed a connecting walkway to a secure lift. An override security code took him to the restricted navigation levels.

Worried about his friend’s impulsive decision, Paul moved cautiously toward where they suspected the Navigator was located. Ahead, shouts came from the opposite side of a sealed hatch. Abruptly, the door burst open and two uniformed Guildsmen stumbled out, each rubbing their eyes and cursing. A yellowish mist hung in the air. As the blinded men careened past without seeing him, Paul smelled the gas, but it wasn’t the cinnamon odor of melange. A sulfurous burn irritated his nostrils, and he staggered back.

Two more Guild security men wrestled someone—Bronso—out of the chamber. “Let go of me!” The boy kicked one man in the shin and wrenched free, but the other seized him. Ixian devices clattered out of his pockets onto the deck. More guards rushed toward them, and Paul, rubbing his stinging eyes, saw no way to avoid them. He refused to abandon Bronso to his fate, but he didn’t see how he could help.

A sour-faced Guild administrator arrived in a huff, inspecting the scene with distaste. Through the open door and the swirling, yellowish gas, Paul caught a glimpse of a large, clearplaz chamber that enclosed thicker smoke of a rust-brown color, and a shadowy shape visible inside. The Navigator? Abruptly, the doors sealed shut again, cutting off the foul defensive gas.

“Remove these boys to a secure area!” The administrator picked up Bronso’s scattered devices from the floor, looked them over. “They are obviously spies or saboteurs.”

Paul’s captors held his arms behind his back, and he struggled, unable to break free. Remembering what the steward had said, he blurted, “We aren’t spies. We work for the Wayku. Ennzyn will verify it.”

He and Bronso stood behind the electronic containment barrier of a holding cell. Waiting. The Guild had already done full identification scans on them, and soon enough somebody would figure out who they really were.

From the other side of the pale yellow barrier, Ennzyn’s voice was
the embodiment of a sigh. “You can give someone advice, but you cannot force them to listen.” At the Wayku’s command, a guard dropped the security barrier so that the boys could step out. Ennzyn barely even looked disturbed. “I knew it would only be a matter of time before I had to come here. Fortunately, you two were so predictable that I had the forethought to make a contingency plan.”

The steward was accompanied by a tall, elderly man in a white suit with long tails and an eccentric, old-fashioned top hat; every item of clothing, even his shoes, sparkled with tiny ice diamonds. He carried himself with an air of success and elegance.

“Rheinvar the Magnificent has agreed to take you off my hands,” Ennzyn said. “You’ll disembark with his Jongleur troupe at the next planetary stop. I used all my influence just to prevent the Guildsmen from tossing you both into space. It just so happens that my good friend Rheinvar has offered to provide you with probationary positions to assist him. Besides, he owes me a favor.”

“We’re joining a Jongleur troupe?” Bronso sounded excited now. Paul had sensed that his companion was already growing bored with his menial duties aboard the Guildship.

Rheinvar the Magnificent doffed his stylish hat with a flourish. His blue eyes twinkled, and Bronso noticed happy creases on his face, seemingly from a lifetime of practiced smiling for audiences. “Welcome to the life of a Jongleur.”

“Thank you, Ennzyn,” Paul said. “Thank you for everything.”

Ennzyn was already walking away, accompanied by the two sour-looking guards. “I enjoyed the experience as well. And now, I leave you in Rheinvar’s capable hands. Learn something from him.”

The Bene Gesserit Sisterhood is a well-connected network, with eyes and ears in every level of government and responsibility. Someone in their organization will know the answer to almost any question that might be posed
.

But do not expect this knowledge to be free of cost, or the Sisters to be altruistic
.

—
CHOAM
Analysis of the Bene Gesserit, Report #7

W
hile Duncan and Gurney searched Guild records and transportation manifests from the subsidiary Ixian spaceports, Rhombur sent repeated requests to the technocrats, since their commercial connections extended across the Imperium; he even made a direct plea to Bolig Avati, although the Council leader was less than sympathetic after all the accusations leveled against him.

So far, none of the investigations had borne any fruit.

Jessica, though, had a different set of resources, avenues that even a Landsraad nobleman did not possess. While Leto was on his way to Ix, she composed a message to her old teacher on Wallach IX, Reverend Mother Gaius Helen Mohiam. With all of the Sisterhood’s observers across the Imperium,
someone
must have seen Paul or Bronso.

Careful to expunge any hint of desperation from her message, Jessica outlined everything she knew about the boys’ disappearance. She pointed out the very real possibility that the two might be hostages, pawns in some dangerous political game played by the Harkonnens against House Atreides, the Tleilaxu or the technocrats against House Vernius, or as-yet-unknown enemies. Paul was missing; that was all Jessica needed to know.

A day later, Leto arrived on an express Guild transport generally
reserved for cargo, but he had paid an exorbitant amount for swift passage. When he stalked into the Grand Palais, he was filled with a simmering energy to
do something
immediately. Jessica embraced him, drawing comfort and also showing her strength. “We’ve already begun the search, Leto. Earl Rhombur has rallied all the resources of Ix.”

Leto’s gray eyes held storm clouds. “Any ransom demand or threat?”

Gurney said, “There is a strong possibility that the boys fled voluntarily.”

Duncan and Gurney bowed formally before the Duke. Duncan spoke first, “We failed you, my Lord. We let the boys slip through our fingers.”

“I am the one who failed,” Rhombur said. He plodded forward until he stood facing the Duke. “You are my friend, Leto. You entrusted your son to me, and I let you down. I gave my word that I would keep Paul safe, and for my failure I am deeply sorry. In the end, I am responsible for the foolish things that Bronso does, if indeed he ran away because of the . . . unwelcome things I told him about his parentage. You cannot forgive me. Nevertheless, I’m truly sorry. I, uh, let myself be distracted with other tragedies.”

For a moment Leto glared at Rhombur, then he took a deep breath and looked at his friend with compassion. “Paul isn’t some weak-willed boy who can easily be talked into doing something foolish. No matter what Bronso may have done, my son makes his own decisions.”

“But my situation has put him into danger,” Rhombur said.

“
Our
situation. A long time ago, you and I found ourselves in the middle of the Ixian revolt that turned your family renegade. My father didn’t blame yours for what happened then. I can’t blame you now.” He reached out to clasp Rhombur’s prosthetic hand in the traditional half-handshake. “My God, Rhombur—your wife, your son . . . For all our sakes, we must not let this turn into a greater tragedy.”

The Ixian leader looked as though he might break down. “Leto, how do I deserve you as a friend?”

“By being the same kind of friend to me.”

Jessica scoured the manifests of each arriving Guildship, hoping that some visitor would arrive with a message from the Bene
Gesserit, but she felt her hopes slipping as time passed. If Paul had indeed left voluntarily, she could not grasp why. Paul wasn’t a flighty, impulsive boy, and running off with Bronso Vernius didn’t make sense.

Finally, an officious but poorly dressed man arrived to see Lady Jessica, handing her a sealed message cylinder. “I was told to deliver this to you.” He shuffled his feet, tugged at his sleeves. “There was some discussion of a reward for service?” After she paid the man and sent him away, Jessica activated the opening mechanism. Hope began to build in her heart.

Mohiam had written a terse, impersonal message in one of the numerous Bene Gesserit codes. The answer was not an admission of failure, nor an expression of knowledge about the boys, or lack of it; instead, she attacked Jessica for her concerns. The blunt sentences oozed with a surprising bitterness.

“Why worry so much about this boy-child whom you never should have conceived in the first place? If he is gone, then he is gone. Now you can concentrate on your duty to the Sisterhood. This is your chance for redemption. Go back to your Duke and bear us the daughter we have always demanded of you. Your purpose is to serve the Sisterhood.”

As Jessica read and reread the message, she felt the sting of tears, then a burn of shame that she would allow the old woman’s curt response to affect her so. She had been taught better than this—by Mohiam herself. With great force of will, she blocked off her emotions.

“As for the condition of Tessia Vernius,” the Reverend Mother added as a postscript, “she has never been any concern of yours. Remember your place, for once. She is in safe hands in the Mother School.”

It was not just the logic, but the venom that made her reel. Yes, Jessica had been told to bear a daughter by Duke Leto, but after the death of little Victor in the skyclipper crash, Leto had been crippled by grief, paralyzed by the loss. Out of her sheer love for him, Jessica had let herself conceive a son instead of a daughter. The Bene Gesserits, and Mohiam in particular, were appalled by Jessica’s disobedience. Now they felt the need to punish her. They would always need to punish her.