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Javid smiled. "Then you know he rails against your family. Only last night, he preached in the south suburb and no one dared touch him. You know why, of course."
"Because they think he's my son come back to them," Jessica said, her voice bored.
"This question has not yet been put to the mentat Idaho," Javid said. "Perhaps that should be done and the thing settled."
Jessica thought: Here's one who truly doesn't know a mentat's limits, although he dares put horns on one--in his dreams if not in fact.
"Mentats share the fallibilities of those who use them," she said. "The human mind, as is the case with the mind of any animal, is a resonator. It responds to resonances in the environment. The mentat has learned to extend his awareness across many parallel loops of causality and to proceed along those loops for long chains of consequences." Let him chew on that!
"This Preacher doesn't disturb you, then?" Javid asked, his voice abruptly formal and portentous.
"I find him a healthy sign," she said. "I don't want him bothered."
Javid clearly had not expected that blunt a response. He tried to smile, failed. Then: "The ruling Council of the church which deifies thy son will, of course, bow to your wishes if you insist. But certainly some explanation--"
"Perhaps you'd rather I explained how I fit into your schemes," she said.
Javid stared at her narrowly. "Madame, I see no logical reason why thou refusest to denounce this Preacher. He cannot be thy son. I make a reasonable request: denounce him."
This is a set piece, Jessica thought. Alia put him up to it.
She said: "No."
"But he defiles the name of thy son! He preaches abominable things, cries out against thy holy daughter. He incites the populace against us. When asked, he said that even thou possessest the nature of evil and that thy--"
"Enough of this nonsense!" Jessica said. "Tell Alia that I refuse. I've heard nothing but tales of this Preacher since returning. He bores me."
"Does it bore thee, Madame, to learn that in his latest defilement he has said that thou wilt not turn against him? And here, clearly, thou--"
"Evil as I am, I still won't denounce him," she said.
"It is no joking matter, Madame!"
Jessica waved him away angrily. "Begone!" She spoke with sufficient carrying power that others heard, forcing him to obey.
His eyes glared with rage, but he managed a stiff bow and returned to his position at the door.
This argument fitted neatly into the observations Jessica already had made. When he spoke of Alia, Javid's voice carried the husky undertones of a lover; no mistaking it. The rumors no doubt were true. Alia had allowed her life to degenerate in a terrible way. Observing this, Jessica began to harbor the suspicion that Alia was a willing participant in Abomination. Was it a perverse will to self-destruction? Because surely Alia was working to destroy herself and the power base which fed on her brother's teachings.
Faint stirrings of unease began to grow apparent in the anteroom. The aficionados of this place would know when Alia delayed too long, and by now they'd all heard about Jessica's peremptory dismissal of Alia's favorite.
Jessica sighed. She felt that her body had walked into this place with her soul creeping behind. Movements among the courtiers were so transparent! The seeking out of important people was a dance like the wind through a field of cereal stalks. The cultivated inhabitants of this place furrowed their brows and gave pragmatic rating numbers to the importance of each of their fellows. Obviously her rebuff of Javid had hurt him; few spoke to him now. But the others! Her trained eye could read the rating numbers in the satellites attending the powerful.
They do not attend me because I am dangerous, she thought. I have the stink of someone Alia fears.
Jessica glanced around the room, seeing eyes turn away. They were such seriously futile people that she found herself wanting to cry out against their ready-made justifications for pointless lives. Oh, if only The Preacher could see this room as it looked now!
A fragment of a nearby conversation caught her attention. A tall, slender Priest was addressing his coterie, no doubt supplicants here under his auspices. "Often I must speak otherwise than I think," he said. "This is called diplomacy."
The resultant laughter was too loud, too quickly silenced. People in the group saw that Jessica had overheard.
My Duke would have transported such a one to the farthest available hellhole! Jessica thought. I've returned none too soon.
She knew now that she'd lived on faraway Caladan in an insulated capsule which had allowed only the most blatant of Alia's excesses to intrude. I contributed to my own dream-existence, she thought. Caladan had been something like that insulation provided by a really first-class frigate riding securely in the hold of a Guild heighliner. Only the most violent maneuvers could be felt, and those as mere softened movements.
How seductive it is to live in peace, she thought.
The more she saw of Alia's court, the more sympathy Jessica felt for the words reported as coming from this blind Preacher. Yes, Paul might have said such words on seeing what had become of his realm. And Jessica wondered what Gurney had found out among the smugglers.
Her first reaction to Arrakeen had been the right one, Jessica realized. On that first ride into the city with Javid, her attention had been caught by armored screens around dwellings, the heavily guarded pathways and alleys, the patient watchers at every turn, the tall walls and indications of deep underground places revealed by thick foundations. Arrakeen had become an ungenerous place, a contained place, unreasonable and self-righteous in its harsh outlines.
Abruptly the anteroom's small side door opened. A vanguard of priestess amazons spewed into the room with Alia shielded behind them, haughty and moving with a confined awareness of real and terrible power. Alia's face was composed; no emotion betrayed itself as her gaze caught and held her mother's. But both knew the battle had been joined.
At Javid's command, the giant doors into the great Hall were opened, moving with a silent and inevitable sense of hidden energies.
Alia came to her mother's side as the guards enfolded them.
"Shall we go in now, mother?" Alia asked.
"It's high time," Jessica said. And she thought, seeing the sense of gloating in Alia's eyes: She thinks she can destroy me and remain unscathed! She's mad!
And Jessica wondered if that might n
ot have been what Idaho had wanted. He'd sent a message, but she'd been unable to respond. Such an enigmatic message: "Danger. Must see you." It had been written in a variant of the old Chakobsa where the particular word chosen to denote danger signified a plot.
I'll see him immediately when I return to Tabr, she thought.
This is the fallacy of power: ultimately it is effective only in an absolute, a limited universe. But the basic lesson of our relativistic universe is that things change. Any power must always meet a greater power. Paul Muad'Dib taught this lesson to the Sardaukar on the Plains of Arrakeen. His descendants have yet to learn the lesson for themselves.
--THE PREACHER AT ARRAKEEN
The first supplicant for the morning audience was a Kadeshian troubadour, a pilgrim of the Hajj whose purse had been emptied by Arrakeen mercenaries. He stood on the water-green stone of the chamber floor with no air of begging about him.
