She sighed. "Yes, my Lord."
"You may resume your custom of dining in your rooms whenever possible. I shall expect you at your proper position only on formal occasions."
"Thank you, my Lord."
"And don't go all cold and formal on me! Be thankful that I never married you, my dear. Then it'd be your duty to join me at table for every meal."
She held her face immobile, nodded.
"Hawat already has our own poison snooper over the dining table," he said. "There's a portable in your room."
"You anticipated this . . . disagreement," she said.
"My dear, I think also of your comfort. I've engaged servants. They're locals, but Hawat has cleared them - they're Fremen all. They'll do until our own people can be released from their other duties."
"Can anyone from this place be truly safe?"
"Anyone who hates Harkonnens. You may even want to keep the head housekeeper: the Shadout Mapes."
"Shadout," Jessica said. "A Fremen title?"
"I'm told it means 'well-dipper,' a meaning with rather important overtones here. She may not strike you as a servant type, although Hawat speaks highly of her on the basis of Duncan 's report. They're convinced she wants to serve - specifically that she wants to serve you."
"Me?"
"The Fremen have learned that you're Bene Gesserit," he said. "There are legends here about the Bene Gesserit."
The Missionaria Protectiva , Jessica thought. No place escapes them .
"Does this mean Duncan was successful?" she asked. "Will the Fremen be our allies?"
"There's nothing definite," he said. "They wish to observe us for a while, Duncan believes. They did, however, promise to stop raiding our outlying villages during a truce period. That's a more important gain than it might seem. Hawat tells me the Fremen were a deep thorn in the Harkonnen side, that the extent of their ravages was a carefully guarded secret. It wouldn't have helped for the Emperor to learn the ineffectiveness of the Harkonnen military."
"A Fremen housekeeper," Jessica mused, returning to the subject of the Shadout Mapes. "She'll have the all-blue eyes."
"Don't let the appearance of these people deceive you," he said. "There's a deep strength and healthy vitality in them. I think they'll be everything we need."
"It's a dangerous gamble," she said.
"Let's not go into that again," he said.
She forced a smile. "We are committed, no doubt of that." She went through the quick regimen of calmness - the two deep breaths, the ritual thought, then: "When I assign rooms, is there anything special I should reserve for you?"
"You must teach me someday how you do that," he said, "the way you thrust your worries aside and turn to practical matters. It must be a Bene Gesserit thing."
"It's a female thing," she said.
He smiled. "Well, assignment of rooms: make certain, I have large office space next to my sleeping quarters. There'll be more paper work here than on Caladan. A guard room, of course. That should cover it. Don't worry about security of the house. Hawat's men have been over it in depth."
"I'm sure they have."
He glanced at his wristwatch. "And you might see that all our timepieces are adjusted for Arrakeen local. I've assigned a tech to take care of it. He'll be along presently." He brushed a strand of her hair back from her forehead. "I must return to the landing field now. The second shuttle's due any minute with my staff reserves."
"Couldn't Hawat meet them, my Lord? You look so tired."
"The good Thufir is even busier than I am. You know this planet's infested with Harkonnen intrigues. Besides, I must try persuading some of the trained spice hunters against leaving. They have the option, you know, with the change of fief - and this planetologist the Emperor and the Landsraad installed as Judge of the Change cannot be bought. He's allowing the opt. About eight hundred trained hands expect to go out on the spice shuttle and there's a Guild cargo ship standing by."
"My Lord . . . " She broke off, hesitating.
"Yes?"
Chapter Four
He will not be persuaded against trying to make this planet secure for us , she thought. And I cannot use my tricks on him.
"At what time will you be expecting dinner?" she asked.
That's not what she was going to say , he thought. Ah-h-h-h, my Jessica, would that we were somewhere else, anywhere away from this terrible place - alone, the two of us, without a care .
"I'll eat in the officers' mess at the field," he said. "Don't expect me until very late. And . . .ah, I'll be sending a guardcar for Paul. I want him to attend our strategy conference."
He cleared his throat as though to say something else, then, without warning, turned and strode out, headed for the entry where she could hear more boxes being deposited. His voice sounded once from there, commanding and disdainful, the way he always spoke to servants when he was in a hurry: "The Lady Jessica's in the Great Hall. Join her there immediately."
The outer door slammed.
Jessica turned away, faced the painting of Leto's father. It had been done by the famed artist, Albe, during the Old Duke's middle years. He was portrayed in matador costume with a magenta cape flung over his left arm. The face looked young, hardly older than Leto's now, and with the same hawk features, the same gray stare. She clenched her fists at her sides, glared at the painting.
"Damn you! Damn you! Damn you!" she whispered.
"What are your orders, Noble Born?"