Dune

She slipped out of bed, checked the screen monitors to see where her family was. The screen showed Paul asleep in the deep cellar room they’d hastily converted to a bedroom for him. The noise obviously wasn’t penetrating to his quarters. There was no one in the Duke’s room, his bed was unrumpled. Was he still at the field C.P.?

There were no screens yet to the front of the house.

Jessica stood in the middle of her room, listening.

There was one shouting, incoherent voice. She heard someone call for Dr. Yueh. Jessica found a robe, pulled it over her shoulders, pushed her feet into slippers, strapped the crysknife to her leg.

Again, a voice called out for Yueh.

Jessica belted the robe around her, stepped into the hallway. Then the thought struck her: What if Leto’s hurt?

The hall seemed to stretch out forever under her running feet. She turned through the arch at the end, dashed past the dining hall and down the passage to the Great Hall, finding the place brightly lighted, all the wall suspensors glowing at maximum.

To her right near the front entry, she saw two house guards holding Duncan Idaho between them. His head lolled forward, and there was an abrupt, panting silence to the scene.

One of the house guards spoke accusingly to Idaho: “You see what you did? You woke the Lady Jessica.”

The great draperies billowed behind the men, showing that the front door remained open. There was no sign of the Duke or Yueh. Mapes stood to one side staring coldly at Idaho. She wore a long brown robe with serpentine design at the hem. Her feet were pushed into unlaced desert boots.

“So I woke the Lady Jessica,” Idaho muttered. He lifted his face toward the ceiling, bellowed: “My sword was firs’ blooded on Grumman!”

Great Mother! He’s drunk! Jessica thought.

Idaho’s dark, round face was drawn into a frown. His hair, curling like the fur of a black goat, was plastered with dirt. A jagged rent in his tunic exposed an expanse of the dress shirt he had worn at the dinner party earlier.

Jessica crossed to him.

One of the guards nodded to her without releasing his hold on Idaho. “We didn’t know what to do with him, my Lady. He was creating a disturbance out front, refusing to come inside. We were afraid locals might come along and see him. That wouldn’t do at all. Give us a bad name here.”

“Where has he been?” Jessica asked.

“He escorted one of the young ladies home from the dinner, my Lady. Hawat’s orders.”

“Which young lady?”

“One of the escort wenches. You understand, my Lady?” He glanced at Mapes, lowered his voice. “They’re always calling on Idaho for special surveillance of the ladies.”

And Jessica thought: So they are. But why is he drunk?

She frowned, turned to Mapes. “Mapes, bring a stimulant. I’d suggest caffeine. Perhaps there’s some of the spice coffee left.”

Mapes shrugged, headed for the kitchen. Her unlaced desert boots slap-slapped against the stone floor.

Idaho swung his unsteady head around to peer at an angle toward Jessica. “Killed more’n three hunner’ men f’r the Duke,” he muttered. “Whadduh wanna know is why’m mere? Can’t live unner th’ groun’ here. Can’t live onna groun’ here. Wha’ kinna place is ’iss, huh?”

A sound from the side hall entry caught Jessica’s attention. She turned, saw Yueh crossing to them, his medical kit swinging in his left hand. He was fully dressed, looked pale, exhausted. The diamond tattoo stood out sharply on his forehead.

“Th’ good docker!” Idaho shouted. “Whad’re you, Doc? Splint ’n’ pill man?” He turned blearily toward Jessica. “Makin’ uh damn fool uh m’self, huh?”

Jessica frowned, remained silent, wondering: Why would Idaho get drunk? Was he drugged?

“Too much spice beer,” Idaho said, attempting to straighten.

Mapes returned with a steaming cup in her hands, stopped uncertainly behind Yueh. She looked at Jessica, who shook her head.

Yueh put his kit on the floor, nodded greeting to Jessica, said: “Spice beer, eh?”

“Bes’ damn stuff ever tas’ed,” Idaho said. He tried to pull himself to attention. “My sword was firs’ blooded on Grumman! Killed a Harkon…Harkon…killed ’im f’r th’ Duke.”

Yueh turned, looked at the cup in Mapes’ hand. “What is that?”

“Caffeine,” Jessica said.

Yueh took the cup, held it toward Idaho. “Drink this, lad.”

“Don’t wan’ any more t’ drink.”

“Drink it, I say!”

Idaho’s head wobbled toward Yueh, and he stumbled one step ahead, dragging the guards with him. “I’m almighdy fed up with pleasin’ th’ ’Mperial Universe, Doc. Jus’ once, we’re gonna do th’ thing my way.”

“After you drink this,” Yueh said. “It’s just caffeine.”

“’Sprolly like all res’ uh this place! Damn’ sun ’stoo brighd. Nothin’ has uh righd color. Ever’thing’s wrong or….”

“Well, it’s nighttime now,” Yueh said. He spoke reasonably. “Drink this like a good lad. It’ll make you feel better.”

“Don’ wanna feel bedder!”