[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
crest of the Atreides on the urn), pot-a-oie and, in the Balut crystal bottle,
sparkling Caladan wine. Note the ancient poison detector concealed in the
chandelier.
-Dar-es-Balat, Description at a Museum Display
Teg found Duncan in the tiny dining alcove off the no-globe's gleaming kitchen.
Pausing in the passage to the alcove, Teg studied Duncan carefully: eight days
here and the lad appeared finally to have recovered from the peculiar rage that
had seized him as they entered the globe's access tube.
They had come through a shallow cave musky with the odors of a native bear. The
rocks at the back of the lair were not rocks, although they would have deceived
even the most sophisticated examination. A slight protrusion in the rocks would
shift if you knew or stumbled upon the secret code. That circular and twisting
movement opened the entire rear wall of the cave.
The access tube, brilliantly lighted automatically once they sealed the portal
behind them, was decorated with Harkonnen griffins on walls and ceiling. Teg
was struck by the image of a young Patrin stumbling into this place for the
first time (The shock! The awe! The elation!) and he failed to observe
Duncan's reaction until a low growl swelled in the enclosed space.
Duncan stood growling (almost a moan), fists clenched, gaze fixed on a Harkonnen
griffin along the right-hand wall. Rage and confusion warred for supremacy on
his face. He lifted both fists and crashed them against the raised figure,
drawing blood from his hands.
"Damn them to the deepest pits of hell!" he shouted.
It was an oddly mature curse issuing from the youthful mouth.
The instant the words were out Duncan relapsed into uncontrolled shudders.
Lucilla put an arm around him and stroked his neck in a soothing, almost sensual
way, until the shuddering subsided.
"Why did I do that?" Duncan whispered.
"You will know when your original memories are restored," she said.
"Harkonnens," Duncan whispered and blood suffused his face. He looked up at
Lucilla. "Why do I hate them so much?"
"Words cannot explain it," she said. "You will have to wait for the memories."
"I don't want the memories!" Duncan shot a startled look at Teg. "Yes! Yes, I
do want them."
Later as he looked up at Teg in the no-globe's dining alcove, Duncan's memory
obviously returned to that moment.
"When, Bashar?"
"Soon."
Teg glanced around the area. Duncan sat alone at the auto-scrubbed table, a cup
of brown liquid in front of him. Teg recognized the smell: one of the many
melange-laced items from the nullentropy bins. The bins were a treasure house
of exotic foods, clothing, weapons, and other artifacts -- a museum whose value
could not be calculated. There was a thin layer of dust all through the globe
but no deterioration of the things stored here. Every bit of the food was laced
with melange, not at an addict level unless you were a glutton, but always
noticeable. Even the preserved fruit had been dusted with the spice.
The brown liquid in Duncan's cup was one of the things Lucilla had tasted and
pronounced capable of sustaining life. Teg did not know precisely how Reverend
Mothers did this, but his own mother had been capable of it. One taste and they
knew the contents of food or drink.
A glance at the ornate clock set into the wall at the closed end of the alcove
told Teg it was later than he thought, well into the third hour of their
arbitrary afternoon. Duncan should still be up on the elaborate practice floor
but they both had seen Lucilla take off into the globe's upper reaches and Teg
saw this as a chance for them to talk unobserved.
Pulling up a chair, Teg seated himself on the opposite side of the table.
Duncan said, "I hate those clocks!"
"You hate everything here," Teg said, but he took a second look at the clock.
It was another antique, a round face with two analog hands and a digital second
counter. The two hands were priapean -- naked human figures: a large male with
enormous phallus and a smaller female with legs spread wide. Each time the two
clock hands met, the male appeared to enter the female.
"Gross," Teg agreed. He pointed to Duncan's drink: "You like that?"
"It's all right, sir. Lucilla says I should have it after exercise."
"My mother used to make me a similar drink for after heavy exertions," Teg said.
He leaned forward and inhaled, remembering the aftertaste, the cloying melange
in his nostrils.
"Sir, how long must we stay here?" Duncan asked.
"Until we are found by the right people or until we're sure we will not be
found."
"But . . . cut off in here, how will we know?"
"When I judge it's time, I'll take the life-shield blanket and start keeping
watch outside."
"I hate this place!"
"Obviously. But have you learned nothing about patience?"
Duncan grimaced. "Sir, why are you keeping me from being alone with Lucilla?"
Teg, exhaling as Duncan spoke, locked on the partial exhalation and then resumed
breathing. He knew, though, that the lad had observed. If Duncan knew, then
Lucilla must know!
"I don't think Lucilla knows what you're doing, sir," Duncan said, "but it's
getting pretty obvious." He glanced around him. "If this place didn't take so
much of her attention . . . Where does she dash off to like that?"
"I think she's up in the library."
"Library!"
"I agree it's primitive but it's also fascinating." Teg lifted his gaze to the
scrollwork on the nearby kitchen ceiling. The moment of decision had arrived. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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crest of the Atreides on the urn), pot-a-oie and, in the Balut crystal bottle,
sparkling Caladan wine. Note the ancient poison detector concealed in the
chandelier.
-Dar-es-Balat, Description at a Museum Display
Teg found Duncan in the tiny dining alcove off the no-globe's gleaming kitchen.
Pausing in the passage to the alcove, Teg studied Duncan carefully: eight days
here and the lad appeared finally to have recovered from the peculiar rage that
had seized him as they entered the globe's access tube.
They had come through a shallow cave musky with the odors of a native bear. The
rocks at the back of the lair were not rocks, although they would have deceived
even the most sophisticated examination. A slight protrusion in the rocks would
shift if you knew or stumbled upon the secret code. That circular and twisting
movement opened the entire rear wall of the cave.
The access tube, brilliantly lighted automatically once they sealed the portal
behind them, was decorated with Harkonnen griffins on walls and ceiling. Teg
was struck by the image of a young Patrin stumbling into this place for the
first time (The shock! The awe! The elation!) and he failed to observe
Duncan's reaction until a low growl swelled in the enclosed space.
Duncan stood growling (almost a moan), fists clenched, gaze fixed on a Harkonnen
griffin along the right-hand wall. Rage and confusion warred for supremacy on
his face. He lifted both fists and crashed them against the raised figure,
drawing blood from his hands.
"Damn them to the deepest pits of hell!" he shouted.
It was an oddly mature curse issuing from the youthful mouth.
The instant the words were out Duncan relapsed into uncontrolled shudders.
Lucilla put an arm around him and stroked his neck in a soothing, almost sensual
way, until the shuddering subsided.
"Why did I do that?" Duncan whispered.
"You will know when your original memories are restored," she said.
"Harkonnens," Duncan whispered and blood suffused his face. He looked up at
Lucilla. "Why do I hate them so much?"
"Words cannot explain it," she said. "You will have to wait for the memories."
"I don't want the memories!" Duncan shot a startled look at Teg. "Yes! Yes, I
do want them."
Later as he looked up at Teg in the no-globe's dining alcove, Duncan's memory
obviously returned to that moment.
"When, Bashar?"
"Soon."
Teg glanced around the area. Duncan sat alone at the auto-scrubbed table, a cup
of brown liquid in front of him. Teg recognized the smell: one of the many
melange-laced items from the nullentropy bins. The bins were a treasure house
of exotic foods, clothing, weapons, and other artifacts -- a museum whose value
could not be calculated. There was a thin layer of dust all through the globe
but no deterioration of the things stored here. Every bit of the food was laced
with melange, not at an addict level unless you were a glutton, but always
noticeable. Even the preserved fruit had been dusted with the spice.
The brown liquid in Duncan's cup was one of the things Lucilla had tasted and
pronounced capable of sustaining life. Teg did not know precisely how Reverend
Mothers did this, but his own mother had been capable of it. One taste and they
knew the contents of food or drink.
A glance at the ornate clock set into the wall at the closed end of the alcove
told Teg it was later than he thought, well into the third hour of their
arbitrary afternoon. Duncan should still be up on the elaborate practice floor
but they both had seen Lucilla take off into the globe's upper reaches and Teg
saw this as a chance for them to talk unobserved.
Pulling up a chair, Teg seated himself on the opposite side of the table.
Duncan said, "I hate those clocks!"
"You hate everything here," Teg said, but he took a second look at the clock.
It was another antique, a round face with two analog hands and a digital second
counter. The two hands were priapean -- naked human figures: a large male with
enormous phallus and a smaller female with legs spread wide. Each time the two
clock hands met, the male appeared to enter the female.
"Gross," Teg agreed. He pointed to Duncan's drink: "You like that?"
"It's all right, sir. Lucilla says I should have it after exercise."
"My mother used to make me a similar drink for after heavy exertions," Teg said.
He leaned forward and inhaled, remembering the aftertaste, the cloying melange
in his nostrils.
"Sir, how long must we stay here?" Duncan asked.
"Until we are found by the right people or until we're sure we will not be
found."
"But . . . cut off in here, how will we know?"
"When I judge it's time, I'll take the life-shield blanket and start keeping
watch outside."
"I hate this place!"
"Obviously. But have you learned nothing about patience?"
Duncan grimaced. "Sir, why are you keeping me from being alone with Lucilla?"
Teg, exhaling as Duncan spoke, locked on the partial exhalation and then resumed
breathing. He knew, though, that the lad had observed. If Duncan knew, then
Lucilla must know!
"I don't think Lucilla knows what you're doing, sir," Duncan said, "but it's
getting pretty obvious." He glanced around him. "If this place didn't take so
much of her attention . . . Where does she dash off to like that?"
"I think she's up in the library."
"Library!"
"I agree it's primitive but it's also fascinating." Teg lifted his gaze to the
scrollwork on the nearby kitchen ceiling. The moment of decision had arrived. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]