"Do as your master has ordered," Feyd-Rautha said. And he thought: All I can hope for now is to save my own skin.
Good! the Baron thought. He yet knows how to cut his losses. And the Baron smiled inwardly at himself, thinking: The lad knows, too, what will please me and be most apt to stay my wrath from falling on him. He knows I must preserve him. Who else do I have who could take the reins I must leave someday? I have no other as capable. But he must learn! And I must preserve myself while he's learning.
Nefud signaled men to assist him, led them out the door.
"Would you accompany me to my chambers, Feyd?" the Baron asked.
"I am yours to command," Feyd-Rautha said. He bowed, thinking: I'm caught.
"After you," the Baron said, and he gestured to the door.
Feyd-Rautha indicated his fear by only the barest hesitation. Have I failed utterly? he asked himself. Will he slip a poisoned blade into my back . . .
slowly, through the shield? Does he have an alternative successor?
Let him experience this moment of terror, the Baron thought as he walked along behind his nephew. He will succeed me, but at a time of my choosing. I'll not have him throwing away what I've built!
Feyd-Rautha tried not to walk too swiftly. He felt the skin crawling on his back as though his body itself wondered when the blow could come. His muscles alternately tensed and relaxed.
"Have you heard the latest word from Arrakis?" the Baron asked.
"No, Uncle."
Feyd-Rautha forced himself not to look back. He turned down the hall out of the servants' wing.
"They've a new prophet or religious leader of some kind among the Fremen,"
the Baron said. "They call him Muad'Dib. Very funny, really. It means 'the Mouse.' I've told Rabban to let them have their religion. It'll keep them occupied."
"That's very interesting, Uncle," Feyd-Rautha said. He turned into the private corridor to his uncle's quarters, wondering: Why does he talk about religion? Is it some subtle hint to me?
"Yes, isn't it?" the Baron said.
They came into the Baron's apartments through the reception salon to the bedchamber. Subtle signs of a struggle greeted them here -- a suspensor lamp displaced, a bedcushion on the floor, a soother-reel spilled open across a bedstand.
"It was a clever plan," the Baron said. He kept his body shield tuned to maximum, stopped, facing his nephew. "But not clever enough. Tell me, Feyd, why didn't you strike me down yourself? You've had opportunity enough."
Feyd-Rautha found a suspensor chair, accomplished a mental shrug as he sat down in it without being asked.
I must be bold now, he thought.
"You taught me that my own hands must remain clean," he said.
"Ah, yes," the Baron said. "When you face the Emperor, you must be able to say truthfully that you did not do the deed. The witch at the Emperor's elbow will hear your words and know their truth or falsehood. Yes. I warned you about that."
"Why haven't you ever bought a Bene Gesserit, Uncle?" Feyd-Rautha asked.
"With a Truthsayer at your side --"
"You know my tastes!" the Baron snapped.
Feyd-Rautha studied his uncle, said: "Still, one would be valuable for --"
"I trust them not!" the Baron snarled. "And stop trying to change the subject!"
Feyd-Rautha spoke mildly; "As you wish, Uncle."
"I remember a time in the arena several years ago," the Baron said. "It seemed there that day a slave had been set to kill you. Is that truly how it was?"
"It's been so long ago, Uncle. After all, I --"
"No evasions, please," the Baron said, and the tightness of his voice exposed the rein on his anger.
Feyd-Rautha looked at his uncle, thinking: He knows, else he wouldn't ask.
"It was a sham, Uncle. I arranged it to discredit your slavemaster."
"Very clever," the Baron said. "Brave, too. That slave-gladiator almost took you, didn't he?"
"Yes."
"If you had finesse and subtlety to match such courage, you'd be truly formidable." The Baron shook his head from side to side. And as he had done many times since that terrible day on Arrakis, he found himself regretting the loss of Piter, the Mentat. There'd been a man of delicate, devilish subtlety. It hadn't saved him, though. Again, the Baron shook his head. Fate was sometimes inscrutable.
Feyd-Rautha glanced around the bedchamber, studying the signs of the struggle, wondering how his uncle had overcome the slave they'd prepared so carefully.
"How did I best him?" the Baron asked. "Ah-h-h, now, Feyd -- let me keep some weapons to preserve me in my old age. It's better we use this time to strike a bargain."
Feyd-Rautha stared at him. A bargain! He means to keep me as his heir for certain, then. Else why bargain. One bargains with equals or near equals!
