Дюна
Book One: Dune
MilkylightpickedoutaboilingofdustcloudsthatspilledoverintotheblindcanyonsinterfingeringtheShieldWall.
Slowly,speakinginaslowvoicetocontainhisanger,theDukeexplainedtoPaulaboutthemysteriousnote.
“Youmightjustaswellmistrustme,”Paulsaid.
“Theyhavetothinkthey’vesucceeded,”theDukesaid.“Theymustthinkmethismuchofafool.Itmustlookreal.Evenyourmothermaynotknowthesham.”
“But,sir!Why?”
“Yourmother’sresponsemustnotbeanact.Oh,she’scapableofasupremeact...buttoomuchridesonthis.Ihopetosmokeoutatraitor.ItmustseemthatI’vebeencompletelycozened.Shemustbehurtthiswaythatshedoesnotsuffergreaterhurt.”
“Whydoyoutellme,Father?MaybeI’llgiveitaway.”
“They’llnotwatchyouinthisthing,”theDukesaid.“You’llkeepthesecret.
Youmust.”Hewalkedtothewindows,spokewithoutturning.“Thisway,ifanythingshouldhappentome,youcantellherthetruth—thatIneverdoubtedher,notforthesmallestinstant.Ishouldwanthertoknowthis.”
Paulrecognizedthedeaththoughtsinhisfather’swords,spokequickly:
“Nothing’sgoingtohappentoyou,sir.The—”
“Besilent,Son.”
Paulstaredathisfather’sback,seeingthefatigueintheangleoftheneck,inthelineoftheshoulders,intheslowmovements.
“You’rejusttired,Father.”
“Iamtired,”theDukeagreed.“I’mmorallytired.ThemelancholydegenerationoftheGreatHouseshasafflictedmeatlast,perhaps.Andweweresuchstrongpeopleonce.
