"Frank Herbert - Dune 1 - Dune (2)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Herbert Brian & Frank)

He studied the tallness of her, saw the hint of tension in her shoulders as she chose clothing
for him from the closet racks. Another might have missed the tension, but she had trained him in
the Bene Gesserit Way -- in the minutiae of observation. She turned, holding a semiformal jacket
for him. It carried the red Atreides hawk crest above the breast pocket.
"Hurry and dress," she said. "Reverend Mother is waiting."
"I dreamed of her once," Paul said. "Who is she?"
"She was my teacher at the Bene Gesserit school. Now, she's the Emperor's Truthsayer. And Paul
. . . " She hesitated. "You must tell her about your dreams."
"I will. Is she the reason we got Arrakis?"
"We did not get Arrakis." Jessica flicked dust from a pair of trousers, hung them with the
jacket on the dressing stand beside his bed. "Don't keep Reverend Mother waiting."
Paul sat up, hugged his knees. "What's a gom jabbar?"
Again, the training she had given him exposed her almost invisible hesitation, a nervous
betrayal he felt as fear.
Jessica crossed to the window, flung wide the draperies, stared across the river orchards
toward Mount Syubi. "You'll learn about . . . the gom jabbar soon enough," she said.
He heard the fear in her voice and wondered at it.
Jessica spoke without turning. "Reverend Mother is waiting in my morning room. Please hurry."

The Reverend Mother Gaius Helen Mohiam sat in a tapestried chair watching mother and son
approach. Windows on each side of her overlooked the curving southern bend of the river and the
green farmlands of the Atreides family holding, but the Reverend Mother ignored the view. She was
feeling her age this morning, more than a little petulant. She blamed it on space travel and
association with that abominable Spacing Guild and its secretive ways. But here was a mission that
required personal attention from a Bene Gesserit-with-the-Sight. Even the Padishah Emperor's
Truthsayer couldn't evade that responsibility when the duty call came.
Damn that Jessica! the Reverend Mother thought. If only she 'd borne us a girl as she was
ordered to do!
Jessica stopped three paces from the chair, dropped a small curtsy, a gentle flick of left
hand along the line of her skirt. Paul gave the short bow his dancing master had taught -- the one


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used "when in doubt of another's station."
The nuances of Paul's greeting were not lost on the Reverend Mother. She said: "He's a
cautious one, Jessica."
Jessica's hand went to Paul's shoulder, tightened there. For a heartbeat, fear pulsed through
her palm. Then she had herself under control. "Thus he has been taught, Your Reverence."
What does she fear? Paul wondered.
The old woman studied Paul in one gestalten flicker: face oval like Jessica's, but strong
bones . . . hair: the Duke's black-black but with browline of the maternal grandfather who cannot
be named, and that thin, disdainful nose; shape of directly staring green eyes: like the old Duke,
the paternal grandfather who is dead.
Now, there was a man who appreciated the power of bravura -- even in death, the Reverend
Mother thought.
"Teaching is one thing," she said, "the basic ingredient is another. We shall see." The old
eyes darted a hard glance at Jessica. "Leave us. I enjoin you to practice the meditation of
peace."