-The Stolen Journals
HAVING SPENT the night with only one brief catnap, Leto was awake when Moneo emerged from the guest house at dawn. The Royal Cart had been parked almost in the center of a three-sided courtyard. The cart’s cover had been set on one-way opaque, concealing its occupant, and was tightly sealed against moisture. Leto could hear the faint stirring of the fans which pulsed his air through a drying cycle.
Moneo’s feet scratched on the courtyard’s cobbles as he approached the cart. Dawn light edged the guest house roof with orange above the majordomo.
Leto opened the cart’s cover as Moneo stopped in front of him. There was a yeasting dirt smell to the air and the accumulation of moisture in the breeze was painful. “We should arrive at Tuono about noon,” Moneo said. “I wish you’d let me bring in ‘thopters to guard the sky.” “I do not want ‘thopters,” Leto said. “We can go down to Tuono on suspensors and ropes.” Leto marveled at the plastic images in this brief exchange. Moneo had never liked peregrinations. His youth as a rebel had left him with suspicions of everything he could not see or label. He remained a mass of latent judgments. “You know I don’t want ‘thopters for transport,” Moneo said. “I want them to guard. . .” “Yes, Moneo.” Moneo looked past Leto at the open end of the courtyard which overlooked the river canyon. Dawn light was frosting the mist which arose from the depths. He thought of how far down that canyon dropped . . . a body twisting, twisting as it fell. Moneo had found himself unable to go to the canyon’s lip last night and peer down into it. The drop was such a . . . such a temptation. With that insightful power which filled Moneo with such awe, Leto said: “There’s a lesson in every temptation, Moneo.” Speechless, Moneo turned to stare directly into Leto’s eyes. “See the lesson in my life, Moneo.” “Lord?” It was only a whisper. “They tempt me first with evil, then with good. Each temptation is fashioned with exquisite attention to my susceptibilities. Tell me, Moneo, if I choose the good, does that make me good?” “Of course it does, Lord.” “Perhaps you will never lose the habit of judgment,” Leto said. Moneo looked away from him once more and stared at the chasm’s edge. Leto rolled his body to look where Moneo looked. Dwarf pines had been cultured along the lip of the canyon. There were hanging dewdrops on the damp needles, each of them sending a promise of pain to Leto. He longed to close the cart’s cover, but there was an immediacy in those jewels which attracted his memories even while they repelled his body. The opposed synchrony threatened to fill him with turmoil. “I just don’t like going around on foot,” Moneo said.
“It was the Fremen war,” Leto said. Moneo sighed. “The others will be ready in a few minutes. Hwi was breakfasting when I came out.” Leto did not respond. His thoughts were lost in memories of night-the one just past and the millennial others which crowded his pasts-clouds and stars, the rains and the open blackness pocked with glittering flakes from a shredded cosmos, a universe of nights, extravagant with them as he had been with his heartbeats. Moneo suddenly demanded: “Where are your guards?” “I sent them to eat.” “I don’t like them leaving you unguarded!” The crystal sound of Moneo’s voice rang in Leto’s memories, speaking things not cast in words. Moneo feared a universe where there was no God Emperor. He would rather die than see such a universe. “What will happen today?” Moneo demanded. It was a question directed not to the God Emperor but to the prophet. ` A seed blown on the wind could be tomorrow’s willow tree,” Leto said. “You know our future! Why won’t you share it?” Moneo was close to hysteria . . . refusing anything his immediate senses did not report. Leto turned to glare at the majordomo, a gaze so obviously filled with pent-up emotions that Moneo recoiled from it. “Take charge of your own existence, Moneo!” Moneo took a deep, trembling breath. “Lord, I meant no offense. I sought only. . . “Look upward, Moneo!” Involuntarily, Moneo obeyed, peering into the cloudless sky where morning light was increasing. “What is it, Lord?” “There’s no reassuring ceiling over you, Moneo. Only an open sky full of changes. Welcome it. Every sense you possess is an instrument for reacting to change. Does that tell you nothing?” “Lord, I only came out to enquire when you would be ready to proceed.” “Moneo, I beg you to be truthful with me.” “I am truthful, Lord!” “But if you live in bad faith, lies will appear to you like the truth.” “Lord, if I lie . . . then I do not know it.”