"Yes, Lord."
Memory supplied the fanatic emphasis in Nayla's response. She would obey.
"If possible, provide opportunities for Siona and.Duncan Idaho to be alone together," he said.
"Yes, Lord."
Let propinquity take its usual course, he thought.
He broke contact with Nayla, thought for a moment, then sent for the commander of his plaza forces. The bashar arrived presently, her dark uniform stained and dusty, evidence of gore still on her boots. She was a tall, bone-thin woman with age lines which gave her aquiline features an air of powerful dignity. Leto recalled her troop-name, Iylyo, which meant "Dependable" in Old Fremen. He called her, however, by her matronymic, Nyshae, "Daughter of Shae," which set a tone of subtle intimacy for this meeting.
"Rest yourself on a cushion, Nyshae," he said. "You have been working hard."
"Thank you, Lord."
She sank onto the red cushion which Hwi had used. Leto noted the fatigue lines around Nyshae's mouth, but her eyes remained alert. She stared up at him, eager to hear his words.
"Matters are once more tranquil in my City." He made it not quite a question, leaving the interpretation to Nyshae.
"Tranquil but not good, Lord."
He glanced at the gore on her boots.
"The street in front of the Ixian Embassy?"
"It is being cleansed, Lord. Repairs already are under way."
"The plaza?"
"By morning, it will appear as it has always appeared."
Her gaze remained steady on his face. Both of them knew he had not yet reached the nubbin of this interview. But Leto now identified a thing lurking within Nyshae's expression.
Pride in her Lord!
For the first time, she had seen the God Emperor kill. The seeds of a terrible dependency had been planted. If disaster threatens, my Lord will come. That was how it appeared in her eyes. She would no longer act with complete independence, taking her power from the God Emperor and being personally responsible for the use of that power. There was something possessive in her expression. A terrible death machine waited in the wings, available at her summons.
Leto did not like what he saw, but the damage had been done. Any remedies would require slow and subtle pressures.
"Where did the attackers get lasguns?" he asked.
"From our own stores, Lord. The Arsenal Guard has been replaced."
Replaced. It was a euphemism with a certain nicety. Errant Fish Speakers were isolated and reserved until Leto found a problem which required Death Commandos. They would die gladly, of course, believing that thus they expiated their sin. And even the rumor that such berserkers had been dispatched could quiet a trouble spot.
"The arsenal was breached by explosives?" he asked. g "Stealth and explosives, Lord. The Arsenal Guard was careless."
"The source of the explosives?"
Some of Nyshae's fatigue was visible in her shrug.
Leto could only agree. He knew he could search out and identify those sources, but it would serve little purpose. Resourceful people could always find the ingredients for homemade explosives-common things such as sugar and bleaches, quite ordinary oils and innocent fertilizers, plastics and solvents and extracts from the dirt beneath a manure pile. The list was virtually endless, growing with each addition to human experience and knowledge. Even a society such as the one he had created, one which tried to limit the admixture of technology and new ideas, had no real hope of totally eliminating dangerously violent small weapons. The whole idea of controlling such things was chimera, a dangerous and distracting myth. The key was to limit the desire for violence. In that respect, this night had been a disaster.
So much new injustice, he thought.
As though she read his thought, Nyshae sighed.
Of course. Fish Speakers were trained from childhood to avoid injustice wherever possible.
"We must see to the survivors in the populace," he said. "See to it that their needs are met. They must be brought to the realization that the Tleilaxu were to blame."
Nyshae nodded. She had not reached bashar rank while remaining ignorant of the drill. By now, she believed it. Merely by hearing Leto say it, she believed in the Tleilaxu guilt. And there was a certain practicality in her understanding. She knew why they did not slay all of the Tleilaxu.
You do not eliminate every scapegoat.
"And we must provide a distraction," Leto said. "Luckily, there may be one ready at hand. I will send word to you after conferring with the Lady Hwi Noree."
"The Ixian Ambassador, Lord? Is she not implicated in..."
"She is entirely guiltless," he said.
He saw belief settle into Nyshae's features, a readymade plastic underlayment which could lock her jaw and glaze her eyes. Even Nyshae. He knew the reasons because he had created those reasons, but sometimes he felt a bit awed by his creation.
"I hear the Lady Hwi arriving in my anteroom," he said. "Send her in as you leave. And, Nyshae..."
She already was on her feet, but she stood expectantly silent.
"Tonight, I have elevated Kieuemo to sub-bashar," he said. "See that it is made official. As for yourself, I am pleased. Ask and you shall receive."
He saw the formula send a wave of pleasure through Nyshae, but she tempered it immediately, proving once more her worth to him.
"I shall test Kieuemo, Lord," she said. "If she suits, I may take a holiday. I have not seen my family on Salusa Secundus for many years."
"At a time of your own choosing," he said.
And he thought: Salusa Secundus. Of course!
That one reference to her origins reminded him of who she resembled: Harq at-Ada. She has Corrino blood. We are closer relatives than Ibad thought.