Why had such a man chosen this course for his life? Did anyone know? Did Moneo know? Perhaps Duncan Idaho knew. Her thoughts gravitated to Idaho-such a physically attractive man. So intense! She could feel herself drawn to him. If only Leto had the body and appearance of Idaho. Moneo, though-that was another matter. She looked at the back of her Fish Speaker escort. “Can you tell me about Moneo”” Hwi asked. The Fish Speaker glanced back over her shoulder, an odd expression in her pale blue eyes-apprehension or some bizarre form of awe. “Is something wrong?” Hwi asked. The Fish Speaker returned her attention to the downward spiral of the ramp. “The Lord said you would ask about Moneo,” she said. “Then tell me about him.” “What is there to say? He is the Lord’s closest confidant.” “Closer even than Duncan Idaho?” “Oh, yes. Moneo is an Atreides.” “Moneo came to me yesterday,” Hwi said. “He said I should know something about the God Emperor. Moneo said the God Emperor is capable of doing anything, anything at all if it is thought to be instructive.” “Many believe this,” the Fish Speaker said. “You do not believe it’?” Hwi asked the question as the ramp rounded a final turn and opened into a small anteroom with an arched entrance only a few steps away. “The Lord Leto will receive you immediately,” the Fish Speaker said. She turned back up the ramp then without speaking of her own belief. Hwi stepped through the arch and found herself in a low-ceilinged room. It was much smaller than the audience chamber. The air felt crisp and dry. Pale yellow light came from a concealed source at the upper corners. She allowed her eyes to adjust to the lowered illumination, noting carpets and soft cushions scattered around a low mound of . . . She put a hand to her mouth as the mound moved, realizing then that it was the Lord Leto on his cart, but the cart lay in a sunken area. She knew immediately why the room provided this feature. It made him less imposing to human guests, less overpowering
by his physical elevation. Nothing could be done, however, about his length and the inescapable mass of his body except to keep them in shadows, throwing most of the light onto his face and hands.
“Come in and sit down,” Leto said. He spoke in a low voice, pleasantly conversational.
Hwi crossed to a red cushion only a few meters in front of Leto’s face and sat on it.
Leto watched her movements with obvious pleasure. She wore a dark golden gown and her hair was tied back in braids which made her face appear fresh and innocent.
“I have sent your message to Ix,” she said. “And I have told them that you wish to know my age.”
“Perhaps they will answer,” he said. “Their answer may even be truthful.”
“I would like to know when I was born, all of the circumstances,” she said, “but I don’t know why this interests you.”
“Everything about you interests me.”
“They will not like it that you make me the permanent Ambassador.”
“Your masters are a curious mixture of punctilio and laxity,” he said. “I do not suffer fools gladly.”
“You think me a fool, Lord?”
“Malky was not a fool; neither are you, my dear.”
“I have not heard from my uncle in years. Sometimes I wonder if he still lives.”
“Perhaps we will learn that as well. Did Malky ever discuss with you my practice of Taquiyya?”
She thought about this a moment, then: “It was called Ketman among the ancient Fremen?”
“Yes. It is the practice of concealing the identity when revealing it might be harmful.”
“I recall it now. He told me you wrote pseudonymous histories, some of them quite famous.”
“That was the occasion when we discussed Taquiyya.”
“Why do you speak of this, Lord?”
“To avoid other subjects. Did you know that I wrote the books of Noah Arkwright?”
She could not suppress a chuckle. “How amusing, Lord. I was required to read about his life.”
“I wrote that account, too. What secrets were you asked to wrest from me?”