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Book Three: The Prophet
“It’suseless,Majesty,”theBaronsaid.“ThesemadFremenholdaburialceremonyforeverycaptiveandactasthoughsuchaonewerealreadydead.”
“So?”theEmperorsaid.
AndtheBaronwaited,glancingleftandrightatthemetalwallsoftheselamlik,thinkingofthemonstrousfanmetaltentaroundhim.SuchunlimitedwealthitrepresentedthateventheBaronwasawed.Hebringspages,theBaronthought,anduselesscourtlackeys,hiswomenandtheircompanions-hair-dressers,designers,everything...allthefringeparasitesoftheCourt.Allhere—fawning,slylyplotting,“roughingit”withtheEmperor...heretowatchhimputanendtothisaffair,tomakeepigramsoverthebattlesandidolizethewounded.
“Perhapsyou’veneversoughttherightkindofhostages,”theEmperorsaid.
Heknowssomething,theBaronthought.Fearsatlikeastoneinhisstomachuntilhecouldhardlybearthethoughtofeating.Yet,thefeelingwaslikehunger,andhepoisedhimselfseveraltimesinhissuspensorsonthepointoforderingfoodbroughttohim.Buttherewasnooneheretoobeyhissummons.
“DoyouhaveanyideawhothisMuad’Dibcouldbe?”theEmperorasked.
“OneoftheUmma,surely,”theBaronsaid.“AFremenfanatic,areligiousadventurer.Theycropupregularlyonthefringesofcivilization.YourMajestyknowsthis.”
TheEmperorglancedathisTruthsayer,turnedbacktoscowlattheBaron.
“AndyouhavenootherknowledgeofthisMuad’Dib?”
“Amadman,”theBaronsaid.“ButallFremenarealittlemad.
