Dune

“It could be a question of self-interest and sincerity,” Edric said.

Stilgar put a hand to the crysknife beneath his robe.

Paul shook his head, said: “Then you accuse me of insincerity.”

“I’m not sure that accuse is the proper word, Sire.”

The boldness of this creature! Paul thought. And he said: “Accused or not, you’re saying my bishops and I are no better than power-hungry brigands.”

“Power-hungry, Sire?” Again, Edric looked at Stilgar. “Power tends to isolate those who hold too much of it. Eventually, they lose touch with reality . . . and fall.”

“M’Lord,” Stilgar growled, “you’ve had men executed for less!”

“Men, yes,” Paul agreed. “But this is a Guild Ambassador.”

“He accuses you of an unholy fraud!” Stilgar said.

“His thinking interests me, Stil,” Paul said. “Contain your anger and remain alert.”

“As Muad’Dib commands.”

“Tell me, Steersman,” Paul said, “how could we maintain this hypothetical fraud over such enormous distances of space and time without the means to watch every missionary, to examine every nuance in every Qizarate priory and temple?”

“What is time to you?” Edric asked.

Stilgar frowned in obvious puzzlement. And he thought: Muad’Dib has often said he sees past the veils of time. What is the Guildsman really saying?

“Wouldn’t the structure of such a fraud begin to show holes?” Paul asked. “Significant disagreements, schisms . . . doubts, confessions of guilt—surely fraud could not suppress all these.”

“What religion and self-interest cannot hide, governments can,” Edric said.

“Are you testing the limits of my tolerance?” Paul asked.

“Do my arguments lack all merit?” Edric countered.

Does he want us to kill him? Paul wondered. Is Edric offering himself as a sacrifice?

“I prefer the cynical view,” Paul said, testing. “You obviously are trained in all the lying tricks of statecraft, the double meanings and the power words. Language is nothing more than a weapon to you and, thus, you test my armor.”

“The cynical view,” Edric said, a smile stretching his mouth. “And rulers are notoriously cynical where religions are concerned. Religion, too, is a weapon. What manner of weapon is religion when it becomes the government?”

Paul felt himself go inwardly still, a profound caution gripping him. To whom was Edric speaking? Damnable clever words, heavy with manipulation leverages—that undertone of comfortable humor, the unspoken air of shared secrets: his manner said he and Paul were two sophisticates, men of a wider universe who understood things not granted common folk. With a feeling of shock, Paul realized that he had not been the main target for all this rhetoric. This affliction visited upon the court had been speaking for the benefit of others—speaking to Stilgar, to the household guards . . . perhaps even to the hulking aide.

“Religious mana was thrust upon me,” Paul said. “I did not seek it.” And he thought: There! Let this man-fish think himself victorious in our battle of words!

“Then why have you not disavowed it, Sire?” Edric asked.

“Because of my sister Alia,” Paul said, watching Edric carefully. “She is a goddess. Let me urge caution where Alia is concerned lest she strike you dead with her glance.”

A gloating smile began forming on Edric’s mouth, was replaced by a look of shock.

“I am deadly serious,” Paul said, watching the shock spread, seeing Stilgar nod.

In a bleak voice, Edric said: “You have mauled my confidence in you, Sire. And no doubt that was your intent.”

“Do not be certain you know my intent,” Paul said, and he signaled Stilgar that the audience was at an end.

To Stilgar’s questioning gesture asking if Edric were to be assassinated, Paul gave a negative hand-sign, amplified it with an imperative lest Stilgar take matters into his own hands.

Scytale, Edric’s aide, moved to the rear corner of the tank, nudged it toward the door. When he came opposite Paul, he stopped, turned that laughing gaze on Paul, said: “If my Lord permits?”

“Yes, what is it?” Paul asked, noting how Stilgar moved close in answer to the implied menace from this man.

“Some say,” Scytale said, “that people cling to Imperial leadership because space is infinite. They feel lonely without a unifying symbol. For a lonely people, the Emperor is a definite place. They can turn toward him and say: ‘See, there He is. He makes us one.’ Perhaps religion serves the same purpose, m’Lord.”

Scytale nodded pleasantly, gave Edric’s tank another nudge. They moved out of the salon, Edric supine in his tank, eyes closed. The Steersman appeared spent, all his nervous energies exhausted.