The Winds of Dune (40 page)

With the door to the hallway still open behind her, she paused, her senses heightened from her years of Bene Gesserit schooling. She detected peculiar odors, things a bit out of place, heavy tables moved slightly, a sheaf of documents in a different position, the jewelry case visible through the doorway to her sleeping chamber open just a crack.

It was ridiculous to think that a burglar had broken into her chambers deep inside the Citadel. A quick inspection revealed that nothing had been taken. But objects had been moved around. Why? Had the intruder been searching for something?

Suddenly, she understood why the Regent had sent her on an unusual, and pointless, assignment all day.
Alia wanted me away from my rooms
.

Irulan checked a cleverly concealed sliding wall compartment,
confirmed that her private journals had not been disturbed. On impulse, she went back to her jewelry case and took out a strand of varnished reefpearls that she had received as a gift during a party game in the Arrakeen royal court.

She remembered that celebratory night, an intentional throwback to the early years of Paul’s reign. Clinging to their former glory, despite the ongoing destruction of the Jihad, Landsraad members had been invited to an especially lavish celebration intended to resemble similar parties back on old Kaitain. Paul had been much too busy for such court games.

As the highlight of the evening, the participants opened random packages provided by the organizer, a bubbly woman who had once been a countess but had lost most of her fortune in a scandal that had nothing to do with the Jihad.

Casually, Irulan had selected an item from the assortment of gifts arrayed on tables around the room—just a light amusement for all—but when she opened her package, Irulan had immediately seen that her gift was unusual. The reefpearls appeared to be genuine, which she’d confirmed afterward through a wizened old jeweler. The jeweler had noticed something else on the necklace, which he showed to her under a magnifying lens: an unmistakable hawk crest etched into the golden clasp. “It appears to be an authentic Atreides heirloom, Highness.”

Later, Irulan had walked into Paul’s private study and interrupted a meeting with Stilgar, freshly returned from an offworld military mission. While the Fremen commander watched, looking at her sourly as he often did, Irulan had handed the reefpearls to Paul. “I believe this keepsake belongs to you, my Husband, not to me.”

“I am Muad’Dib now. Atreides heirlooms are no longer important to me.” With a casual motion Paul had tossed the reefpearls back to her. “Keep them yourself, or send them to my mother on Caladan, as you like.” The Princess had gone away with the necklace, questions churning through her mind. . . .

Now, as she held the strand of pearls up to the light from an overhead glowglobe, Irulan looked through a handheld magnifier and found the minuscule hawk crest, as expected. But something wasn’t right. Laying out the reefpearls, she looked at them under a focusing lens. Previously, the second pearl from the clasp had been distinguished by a barely
perceptible scratch that the jeweler pointed out to her. Now she could not locate it. Her heart racing, Irulan looked again, increasing the magnification just to verify her suspicions.

Not there
.

Carrying the pearls, she marched off to the grand ballroom where servants were setting up dinner. She still wore wrinkled and dusty clothing from her day on the streets of Arrakeen, but she did not care about decorum.

When Alia arrived with Duncan and took her customary place at the head of the table, Irulan laid the pearls on her own dinner plate. “I must commend you on an excellent job of copying, Lady Alia. However, your craftsmen failed to take into account a small scratch on one of the pearls.”

Rather than being incensed, Alia responded with a wide smile. “You see, Duncan! Irulan is not as easily fooled as you expected. She noticed a flaw that even our experts disregarded.”

Her new husband wore a slight frown. “I did suggest that we ask her openly for the original, instead of attempting secrecy.”

Irulan waited for an explanation, and Alia said lightly, “We confiscated the original because it is a relic of House Atreides. It has nothing to do with you, Irulan.”

“Paul himself told me I could keep it.”

“You received many items from my brother.”

“Legitimately. I was his wife.”

“We both know the truth of that, Irulan. Because of their important religious significance, all of your original keepsakes have been replaced with copies. The true relics will be placed under the care and guard of the Qizarate, and select authorized replicas will be made available to certain devout and generous collectors.”

Irulan felt anger, but used her Bene Gesserit training to remain calm. “Those were my possessions. Gifts from my
husband
.” She was edging into dangerous territory, but she set aside her fear and tried to keep her voice steady. “With all due respect, because of my dedication and loyalty, I have earned the right to keep my own things.”

“Oh, enough melodrama, Irulan Corrino! They were never
your
things. I don’t see how any of this can matter to you. You are not really an Atreides.” Giving her a dismissive gesture, Alia called for the first
course. By now, other diners had halted their conversations, and the usual dinner table murmurings had dwindled to a few tinklings of silverware, glasses, and plates.

Servants rushed about in a great flurry, serving extravagant salads, lush greens, and succulent raw vegetables grown in moisture-sealed greenhouses inside the Citadel. It was clear Alia wanted to speak no more of the matter.

In a voice as brittle as dried bone, Irulan asked, “Will the Lady Jessica be joining us for dinner?”

“My mother has chosen to meditate in her own rooms.”

Irulan decided to pay a visit to Jessica later in the evening. It was obvious that the other woman had much more to tell her, but Irulan hadn’t been ready to hear it. Irulan ate and then excused herself as quickly as possible.

When Jessica responded to a subdued knock at the door to her private apartments, she found the Princess standing there alone and troubled. In an instant, she read many things in the younger woman’s expression. “Please come inside for a cup of spice tea.”

After Jessica had closed the door behind them, Irulan used finger talk to silently explain what Alia had done; her coded words were tentative at first, but she gained energy as she allowed herself to become more upset. She felt a need for secrecy—perhaps irrationally, since Alia had just confirmed what she’d done in front of all the attendees at the banquet.

Absorbing the new information, Jessica let out a long sigh. Her fingers flashed in subtle communication, acknowledging the potential danger they faced. “My daughter grows increasingly unpredictable, and the challenge before you is great. You walk a dangerous, fine line—just as Paul did when he looked into the future and saw only a treacherous and uncertain path. Alia is the rightful Regent of the Imperium, and we must accept that. But even Alia doesn’t see everything. You have an important role, as do I. As does Bronso of Ix.”

Irulan was startled. “
Bronso
has an important role?”

“Paul understood it before I did, Irulan, and he asked us for help.”
She gave a finger sign for added caution. Alia knew every Bene Gesserit code, and if there were hidden spy-eyes. . . .

Feigning casualness, Jessica sat back against her comfortable cushions, and reached over to pour them tea. Openly, as a diversion, she spoke of how much she missed Caladan and hoped to return there soon; all the while the fingers of one hand flashed subtly with the real message: “You will make your own decisions, Irulan. But in determining what to write, you must first
know
the truth, in all of its dimensions. Your special duty is to protect Paul’s legacy.”

Hunching over, hiding her hands in her lap, Jessica continued her quick finger signs. “You must hear the rest of the story about Bronso and Paul. Only then will you understand why Bronso writes what he does. We cannot speak here. I will arrange a safe time and place.”

Alas, history can be rewritten according to political agendas, but in the end, facts remain facts.

—
Conversations with Muad’Dib
by the
PRINCESS IRULAN

A
fter establishing an acceptable pretext that she and Irulan wished to attend a Fremen ceremony at Sietch Tabr the following evening, Jessica specifically requested Gurney Halleck to pilot the ornithopter. Preoccupied with a new set of motions that had been delivered from the latest Landsraad meeting on Kaitain, Alia sent them off without any apparent concern.

Gurney made the ’thopter preparations with good cheer, meeting the two women in a vehicle bay that was normally used for Regency business and security operations. “The guards assigned us this craft, my Ladies. I have loaded aboard literjons of water, a Fremkit, and other emergency supplies. We are ready to go.”

Jessica paused, then looked over her shoulder. “We’ll take that one instead, Gurney. I like the look of it better. You can go over the checklist yourself quickly enough.” Any ’thopter that Alia had assigned to them might contain hidden listening devices, and Jessica wanted no one to hear what she was about to reveal.

Though surprised by the unexpected change, Gurney called for assistance in preparing the second craft. Catching his eye, Jessica made a subtle half-hidden signal with her hand, using an old Atreides battle code to inform him that he was to ask no further questions. A troubled
cloud came over the man’s face, darkening the line of his inkvine scar, before he returned to his casual demeanor.

The mechanics and uniformed guards were thrown into confusion by the sudden change, but Gurney brushed them aside and quickly transferred over the supplies, checked the fuel level, and tested the ’thopter systems, while Irulan and Jessica waited in the vehicle bay. Both of the noble ladies looked out of place.

When he was satisfied, Gurney opened the door of the craft and extended a hand to help Irulan and Jessica aboard. After they had secured themselves inside, he powered up the engines, extended the stubby wings, and activated the jetpods.

The craft flew away from the Citadel of Muad’Dib, into the sparkling traffic patterns of the desert night. Both moons shone overhead, widely separated in the sky. Gurney fixed his gaze ahead through the cockpit plaz, guiding them through the thermal turbulence caused by temperatures falling after sunset. They flew up and over the rugged barrier of the Shield Wall.

Jessica drew a long, deep breath. “I wanted you to be my pilot, Gurney, because I trust you completely. Even if Duncan is the old Duncan, Alia has him too ensnared.” She glanced over at Irulan, who looked willowy and beautiful, though not fragile. “And I’m not certain that I share Alia’s goals in all things. For what I am about to reveal—to both of you—I require absolute privacy. Alia cannot be allowed to know what I tell you.”

Though he concentrated on his flying, Gurney was troubled. “I am always loyal to you, my Lady, but for a mother to keep such secrets from her daughter, it’s not to my liking.”

Jessica sighed. “They are secrets about my son, and they concern you as well, Gurney. Back in Arrakeen, there are too many eyes and ears, as there will be in Sietch Tabr. We need time alone. Absolutely alone.” She leaned forward, spoke into his ear over the thrumming of the articulated wings. “Find us a place to land—a rock outcropping somewhere not too obvious. Once I begin, I’ll want your full attention, and this could take some time.”