Дюна
Book One: Dune
Wrappingtwinehungfromitlikeafrayeddecoration.ApieceofthetwinewasstillclutchedinJessica’slefthand.Besidethepaintinglayablackbull’sheadmountedonapolishedboard.Theheadwasadarkislandinaseaofwaddedpaper.Itsplaquelayflatonthefloor,andthebull’sshinymuzzlepointedattheceilingasthoughthebeastwerereadytobellowachallengeintothisechoingroom.
Jessicawonderedwhatcompulsionhadbroughthertouncoverthosetwothingsfirst—theheadandthepainting.Sheknewtherewassomethingsymbolicintheaction.NotsincethedaywhentheDuke’sbuyershadtakenherfromtheschoolhadshefeltthisfrightenedandunsureofherself.
Theheadandthepicture.
Theyheightenedherfeelingsofconfusion.Sheshuddered,glancedattheslitwindowshighoverhead.Itwasstillearlyafternoonhere,andintheselatitudestheskylookedblackandcold—somuchdarkerthanthewarmblueofCaladan.
Apangofhomesicknessthrobbedthroughher.
Sofaraway,Caladan.
“Hereweare!”
ThevoicewasDukeLeto’s.
Shewhirled,sawhimstridingfromthearchedpassagetothedininghall.Hisblackworkinguniformwithredarmorialhawkcrestatthebreastlookeddustyandrumpled.
“Ithoughtyoumighthavelostyourselfinthishideousplace,”hesaid.
“Itisacoldhouse,”shesaid.Shelookedathistallness,atthedarkskinthatmadeherthinkofolivegrovesandgoldensunonbluewaters.Therewaswoodsmokeinthegrayofhiseyes,butthefacewaspredatory:thin,fullofsharpanglesandplanes.
Asuddenfearofhimtightenedherbreast.
