Navigators of Dune

As the two bearded men continued through town, the large, weathered Harkonnen house was prominent along the shore of the fjord, at the far end of the docks and the cluster of shops and inns. Willem stared ahead as if he had seen the lair of a beast. “Is that it? Is that where Tula lives?”

Vor looked at the shingled house with its pointed, sloping gables in the distinctive architecture of Lankiveil. He knew there would be a cozy fire inside; Sonia Harkonnen and her servants would fill the house with the smells of cooking and baking. If Vergyl wasn’t out on his whaling boat, he would be in his study attending to the family accounts. “That’s where her family lives,” Vor said. “We don’t know whether or not Tula’s there herself.”

“Then we need to find out. Before she can get away.”

Vor looked up to see the sky darkening with an oncoming aurora storm; beyond the fjord cliffs, he could see flashes of color. He knew the weather would rapidly get worse. “Later. We’d better find shelter for now.”

On the fjord, the Harkonnen great house loomed tall. Several lights burned in the windows in the afternoon gloom as the aurora storm worsened.

Willem’s expression darkened. “We’ve been spotted in town already, and someone might ask questions. We can’t wait. We’ll have to go to the Harkonnen house and see if Tula is there, before she can bolt.”

Vor took his arm and led him toward an inn only two blocks away from the house. “If she’s there now, she will stay inside during the storm—as we should be doing.” They walked up the creaking wooden steps of the inn’s entrance. “We’ve come all this way. Wait until the weather clears, ask more questions, find out exactly where we stand … and find out if Tula’s here at all.” He opened the inn’s door, stepped inside.

Willem seemed reluctant. “But think about it—if we take our vengeance sooner, the storm will give us cover to help us get away. If they resist, we may have to kill the rest of her family, and good riddance!”

“No,” Vor said. “Only the guilty ones—only Tula, unless we find proof that more of them took part.” The sky crackled overhead, and the wind picked up. He wasn’t sure how many additional Harkonnens, if any, were involved. Tula had the most obvious blood on her hands.

The innkeeper came into the foyer, rubbing his hands, as Vor entered. The man had a forced grin, but looked harried. “One room left, if you want to keep warm and safe from the storm. The staff and I are sealing the windows and preparing the generators, so we should be fine.”

Vor nodded. “Yes, my nephew and I would like a room. Probably just for one night.”

The innkeeper’s face showed sudden alarm, and he shouted past Vor. “You don’t want to go out there! And close the door!”

Vor spun to find the door wide open and the wind blowing into the foyer. Willem had ducked back out of the inn and set off up the street. With an angry sigh, Vor headed after him, calling Willem’s name, but his voice was lost in the increasing wind and commotion. Though it was only afternoon, the sky had turned dark, and more lights had come on in the houses and shops.

Willem had rushed ahead, determined, running up the reinforced stairs to the front porch of the Harkonnen great house. He pounded on the door, shouting, as Vor finally caught up to him.

The door, emblazoned with the familiar Harkonnen griffin crest, swung open to reveal a middle-aged woman in a fur-lined housecoat. She looked surprised to see Willem, his hair windblown and his face flushed. “What are you doing out there? You shouldn’t be—” Then Sonia Harkonnen recognized Vor, and called him by the false name he had given during his last visit. “Jeron! Come in out of the weather.” She gestured them inside. “Who is your young friend?”

Willem stalked into the parlor, and Vor followed, grabbing his arm. “Wait!”

Willem looked around, glared at the older woman. “We’re here for Tula.”

“Tula isn’t here.” Sonia appeared confused. Her eyes widened as she seemed to notice the young man’s dark expression. “She left for Chusuk days ago. I’m afraid you missed her. But come in, come in!” She called down the hall as she took them into the parlor. “Vergyl! Jeron has come back!”

Feeling trapped, Vor tried to intercept the young man who was coiled for violence. “This is Willem. He’s my nephew.”

“Willem Atreides!” The young man threw it out like a challenge just as Vergyl Harkonnen emerged from the study.

The older man had a welcoming smile that changed as soon as he heard Willem’s outburst. “Atreides?” Vergyl looked from the flushed young man to Vor. “Jeron, what is he talking about?”

Sonia’s expression visibly altered: revulsion and fear covered by shock. “He is an Atreides? And he’s your nephew, truly?”

Vor paused, his thoughts racing, and then he reached a conclusion. He added in a strong voice, “Yes. My real name isn’t Jeron Egan. It’s Vorian Atreides.”