So it's to be the ritual greeting, Chani thought, and her fears returned.
Where is Muad'Dib? Why isn't he here to greet me?
"He is healthy and happy, my mother," Chani said. "I left him with Alia in the care of Harah."
My mother, Jessica thought. Yes, she has the right to call me that in the formal greeting. She has given me a grandson.
"I hear a gift of cloth has been sent from Coanua sietch," Jessica said.
"It is lovely cloth," Chani said.
"Does Alia send a message?"
"No message. But the sietch moves more smoothly now that the people are beginning to accept the miracle of her status."
Why does she drag this out so? Chani wondered. Something was so urgent that they sent a 'thopter for me. Now, we drag through the formalities!
"We must have some of the new cloth cut into garments for little Leto,"
Jessica said.
"Whatever you wish, my mother," Chani said. She lowered her gaze. "Is there news of battles?" She held her face expressionless that Jessica might not see the betrayal -- that this was a question about Paul Muad'Dib.
"New victories," Jessica said. "Rabban has sent cautious overtures about a truce. His messengers have been returned without their water. Rabban has even lightened the burdens of the people in some of the sink villages. But he is too late. "The people know he does it out of fear of us."
"Thus it goes as Muad'Dib said," Chani said. She stared at Jessica, trying to keep her fears to herself. I have spoken his name, but she has not responded.
One cannot see emotion in that glazed stone she calls a face . . . but she is too frozen. Why is she so still? What has happened to my Usul?
"I wish we were in the south," Jessica said. "The oases were so beautiful when we left. Do you not long for the day when the whole land may blossom thus?"
"The land is beautiful, true," Chani said. "But there is much grief in it."
"Grief is the price of victory," Jessica said.
Is she preparing me for grief? Chani asked herself. She said: "There are so many women without men. There was jealousy when it was learned that I'd been summoned north."
"I summoned you," Jessica said.
Chani felt her heart hammering. She wanted to clap her hands to her ears, fearful of what they might hear. Still, she kept her voice even: "The message was signed Muad'Dib."
"I signed it thus in the presence of his lieutenants," Jessica said. "It was a subterfuge of necessity." And Jessica thought: This is a brave woman, my Paul's. She holds to the niceties even when fear is almost overwhelming her.
Yes. She may be the one we need now.
Only the slightest tone of resignation crept into Chani's voice as she said:
"Now you may say the thing that must be said."
"You were needed here to help me revive Paul," Jessica said. And she thought: There! I said it in the precisely correct way. Revive. Thus she knows Paul is alive and knows there is peril, all in the same word.
Chani took only a moment to calm herself, then: "What is it I may do?" She wanted to leap at Jessica, shake her and scream: "Take me to him!" But she waited silently for the answer.
"I suspect," Jessica said, "that the Harkonnens have managed to send an agent among us to poison Paul. It's the only explanation that seems to fit. A most unusual poison. I've examined his blood in the most subtle ways without detecting it."
Chani thrust herself forward onto her knees. "Poison? Is he in pain? Could I
. . . "
"He is unconscious," Jessica said. "The processes of his life are so low that they can be detected only with the most refined techniques. I shudder to think what could have happened had I not been the one to discover him. He appears dead to the untrained eye."
"You have reasons other than courtesy for summoning me," Chani said. "I know you, Reverend Mother. What is it you think I may do that you cannot do?"
She is brave, lovely and, ah-h-h, so perceptive, Jessica thought. She'd have made a fine Bene Gesserit.
"Chani," Jessica said, "you may find this difficult to believe, but I do not know precisely why I sent for you. It was an instinct . . . a basic intuition.
The thought came unbidden: 'Send for Chani.' "
For the first time, Chani saw the sadness in Jessica's expression, the unveiled pain modifying the inward stare.
"I've done all I know to do," Jessica said. "That all . . . it is so far beyond what is usually supposed as all that you would find difficulty imagining it. Yet . . . I failed."
"The old companion, Halleck," Chani asked, "is it possible he's a traitor?"
"Not Gurney," Jessica said.
The two words carried an entire conversation, and Chani saw the searching, the tests . . . the memories of old failures that went into this flat denial.
