Дюна
Book One: Dune
Letofelthimselfsittinginachairacrossfromthefatman,feltthechains,thestrapsthatheldhistinglingbodyinthechair.Hewasawaretherehadbeenapassageoftime,butitslengthescapedhim.
“Ibelievehe’scomingaround,Baron.”
Asilkyvoice,thatone.ThatwasPiter.
“SoIsee,Piter.”
Arumblingbasso:theBaron.
Letosensedincreasingdefinitioninhissurroundings.Thechairbeneathhimtookonfirmness,thebindingsweresharper.
AndhesawtheBaronclearlynow.Letowatchedthemovementsoftheman’shands:compulsivetouchings—theedgeofaplate,thehandleofaspoon,afingertracingthefoldofajowl.
Letowatchedthemovinghand,fascinatedbyit.
“Youcanhearme,DukeLeto,”theBaronsaid.“Iknowyoucanhearme.
Wewanttoknowfromyouwheretofindyourconcubineandthechildyousiredonher.”
NosignescapedLeto,butthewordswereawashofcalmnessthroughhim.
It’strue,then:theydon’thavePaulandJessica.
“Thisisnotachild’sgameweplay,”theBaronrumbled.“Youmustknowthat.”HeleanedtowardLeto,studyingtheface.ItpainedtheBaronthatthiscouldnotbehandledprivately,justbetweenthetwoofthem.Tohaveothersseeroyaltyinsuchstraits—itsetabadprecedent.
Letocouldfeelstrengthreturning.Andnow,thememoryofthefalsetoothstoodoutinhismindlikeasteepleinaflatlandscape.Thenerve-shapedcapsulewithinthattooth—thepoisongas—herememberedwhohadputthedeadlyweaponinhismouth.
Yueh.
