The Winds of Dune (26 page)

There are countless definitions and interpretations of a life well spent, and of the opposite. There are often widely divergent biographies of a particular person. The same individual can be either demon or saint, and even shades of both
.

—from
The Wisdom of Muad’Dib
by the
PRINCESS IRULAN

A
board the Heighliner, Rheinvar gathered his troupe in a large, echoing compartment that the Wayku had provided for them to relax in together. Their belongings had been containerized and placed in a cargo hold of the great ship. The Jongleur leader strutted back and forth, smiling. “Balut is our next venue. For the first time ever, we play the famed Theater of Shards!”

Though the Face Dancers showed neither enthusiasm nor disappointment, the other troupe members murmured with excitement. Bronso perked up and whispered to Paul. “My grandmother was from Balut. Lady Shando—”

Paul nudged him. Though they had provided their first names, neither boy had revealed much about their identities. Bronso fell silent, but one of the Face Dancers—Sielto?—leaned closer. “Your family comes from there, young man?”

Paul said in a hard voice, “Do Face Dancers have unusually acute hearing? And no respect for personal privacy?”

The shape-shifter smiled. “Old Emperor Elrood had a concubine named Shando, and she was from Balut.”

“Shando is a common name there, especially after the Emperor’s
concubine,” Bronso said. “Many families fantasized that their own daughters might go off to join the Imperial court.”

“I see.” The Face Dancer was maddeningly unreadable. “That certainly explains the coincidence.”

Before they reached Balut, Rheinvar held several private sessions with Paul and Bronso. “If you two are going to be part of this troupe, I should teach you simple techniques that Jongleurs use to generate enthusiasm in the audience, to enhance emotions and make the people love you, cheer for you, follow your lead. Won’t there be times in your lives that you need to convince others? Maybe even large crowds?”

“But we’re not Master Jongleurs,” Paul said.

“No mass hypnosis, no telepathic techniques, or complex tricks—those things are not necessary for you to know. But at the very least, you both need to be competent orators in order to spread the word on various planets about our upcoming shows. Let me show you how to mesmerize the listeners!”

Rheinvar leaned closer, striking a pose with an utterly sincere and captivating smile. “You see, much of the technique of convincing people, of selling them, involves the careful use of voice and facial expressions. Once you master the subtle art of manipulating people—either one at a time, or in great numbers—you will always be able to achieve your goals.”

As the two boys sat down to listen and Rheinvar began his instruction, Paul was reminded of some of the lessons his mother had taught him about Bene Gesserit techniques and manipulations.

He frowned, having second thoughts. “If you have to trick people into cooperating with you, then you are not an honorable person.” It went against everything Duke Leto had taught him, but he recalled seeing a harder side of his father when it came to political realities.

“Honor or dishonor depends on how you
employ
your talents, not the nature of the talents themselves. Surely there’s nothing wrong with encouraging people to attend an entertaining show?”

As the passengers filed off into the Balut terminal building, Paul was surprised to see so much security. Hypervigilant red-uniformed soldiers monitored all exits, all lines of people.

“More internal troubles?” he said to Bronso.

“Every Great and Minor House feuds with other noble families, I suppose.”

Joining them on the deck, Sielto grinned at Paul. “The more arguments, the more
customers
for us. Balut is a cesspool of saboteurs and agents for each side.” Now that the boys knew their secret, the Face Dancers were oddly casual about their secondary profession.

“You’ve wasted no time doing your research on local tensions, I see,” Bronso said.

Sielto acted nonthreatening, even trustworthy. “It is an important part of my job. The ruling Kio family has entered into an alliance with House Heiron, a wealthy but minor offworld family. House Heiron has only been on Balut for a couple of decades, and already they control the most exquisitely talented crystal carvers, glassmakers, and etchers. Now the Heirons have worked their way into Governor Kio’s inner power circle.”

“And some of the old-guard families don’t like it,” Paul said with a sigh. “Naturally.” He scanned the crowd as people milled around. The arriving passengers lined up to pass through a series of checkpoints.

“They don’t want Balut tainted by outsiders.” The Face Dancer smiled.

At the security checkpoints, all of the troupe’s cargo cases, prop wardrobes, and animal cages received an intense examination. Neither Paul nor Bronso carried identity documents, nor did many of the troupe members, so they passed through secondary screening, where they were thoroughly catalogued.

Ahead of Paul in line, Bronso pressed his hand against an identity plate, and a silvery scanner light bathed him. Unlike the previous passengers, Bronso remained under the glow for a long moment. Paul held his breath, sure that they had been caught.

A suspicious, red-uniformed officer told Bronso to stand still as he checked the readings. Paul swallowed hard as the line backed up behind them, and a guard diverted him to a second scanner, where he was sure he’d trigger a security alert as well. He swallowed hard as he went
through the identification process—but he passed without anyone giving him a second glance.

Paul glanced over to where the uniformed officer looked Bronso up and down, scowling. “Scanner says you’re a member of the former Balut noble family.” The redheaded boy was disheveled, his clothes stained and threadbare, a roustabout scamp traveling with a Jongleur troupe.

“Yeah, I get confused with royalty all the time,” Bronso said with bold sarcasm. The guard glanced at his companion, and both let out loud guffaws. They pushed him through and called the next person forward. Bronso joined Paul, wiping perspiration from his forehead. Sielto followed close behind.

Sometimes the best way to search is to be found
.

—Zensunni postulate

A
week later, in their small stateroom aboard another Heighliner, Gurney strummed his new baliset, experimenting with melodies and humming tunes in his head.

Now that they had left Chusuk with no particular destination in mind, Duncan pored over the charts of star routes, trying to imagine where the Jongleur troupe might have gone. So far, they had spent many fruitless days. “I’d have to be a Mentat to figure this out. We should have brought Hawat along, after all. Paul and Bronso could have gotten off almost anywhere. There are too many possible locations for us to search them all.”

Gurney plucked a wrong note. “Neither of us is going to give up. We promised the Duke.”

Duncan pushed the papers aside. “Yes, and we owe it to the young Master as well. Paul has gotten in over his head, but he’s never seemed like the type who needs rescuing.”

“We all need to be rescued at one time or another.” It wasn’t a familiar quote, but a nugget of his own wisdom. Gurney toyed with a new tune.

A Wayku steward appeared at the stateroom door, bearing a tray of
food. Duncan looked up at him suspiciously. “We didn’t order meals in our quarters.”

“You are correct, but I needed some reason to come here.” The Wayku man had a black goatee and impenetrable glasses over his eyes. “We’ve all heard about the search for the missing sons of Duke Atreides and Earl Vernius. Paul and Bronso are their names, correct?”

Gurney rose to his feet, setting the baliset aside. “Do you have any leads on the boys?”

“I have facts. My name is Ennzyn. I did know two boys that matched the descriptions I’ve read, and their names were Paul and Bronso.”

“Where?” Duncan asked. “And when did you last see them?”

“They worked with me for a time on a Heighliner, but when the Guild discovered that they were stowaways, they were put off at Chusuk. They joined a Jongleur troupe.”

Gurney’s shoulders slumped with disappointment. “We’ve already tracked them that far. We lost their trail after that.”

“There is more. A certain member of that same Jongleur troupe dispatched a message to us, from Balut. It seems that when Rheinvar’s group arrived there, a security scan identified the genetic markers of the former noble family, House Balut, in one of the young roustabouts.”

Duncan put the pieces together. “Bronso’s grandmother was Lady Shando of Balut.”

“Did they detain the boys?” Gurney pressed.

“No. Security had no record of—nor any particular interest in—a missing member of the Balut family. Fortunately, my source takes interest in a great many matters.” The Wayku steward stepped inside and rested the food tray on a small table, then removed the coverings to reveal an unappetizing-looking meal. “The dinner comes free with the information.”

“And what do we owe you for the information itself?” Duncan said.

Ennzyn gave a faint smile. “I developed a fondness for the boys. After I researched your situation in greater detail, I became concerned about them. Though Bronso and Paul both struck me as flexible, intelligent, and resourceful young men, they don’t belong on their own, traveling as they do. It would be sufficient reward for me to help you bring them home.”

“And why would a member of the Jongleur troupe have sent you this news?” Gurney was suspicious at the Wayku’s lack of any demands.

“Wayku and Jongleurs have much in common, traveling as we do through the various regions of space. Our peoples yearn to see new places, have new experiences, and so we’ve developed a natural affinity for one another. Shared information is sometimes mutually beneficial.”

“And are the boys still on Balut?”

“As far as I know. But who can know all the movements of a Jongleur troupe?”

Duncan hauled out the star charts again. “We’ve got to get to Balut as soon as possible, Gurney.”

“Unfortunately, this vessel does not go there,” Ennzyn said. “You’ll have to take an alternate route from the next hub. I would be happy to help you plot the best course.”

“Where’s the next hub stop?” Gurney wished his sense of urgency could make the Heighliner arrive faster.

“Ix,” Ennzyn replied.

Gurney glanced sharply at Duncan. “That’ll do just fine.”