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

But I'm not a Reverend Mother, Jessica thought. And then: Great Mother! They planted that one
here! This must be a hideous place!
In matter-of-fact tones, Mapes said: "What'll you be wanting me to do first, my Lady?"
Instinct warned Jessica to match that casual tone. She said: "The painting of the Old Duke
over there, it must be hung on one side of the dining hall. The bull's head must go on the wall
opposite the painting."
Mapes crossed to the bull's head. "What a great beast it must have been to carry such a head,"
she said. She stooped. "I'll have to be cleaning this first, won't I, my Lady?"
"No."
"But there's dirt caked on its horns."
"That's not dirt, Mapes. That's the blood of our Duke's father. Those horns were sprayed with
a transparent fixative within hours after this beast killed the Old Duke."
Mapes stood up. "Ah, now!" she said.
"It's just blood," Jessica said. "Old blood at that. Get some help hanging these now. The
beastly things are heavy."
"Did you think the blood bothered me?" Mapes asked. "I'm of the desert and I've seen blood
aplenty."
"I . . . see that you have," Jessica said.
"And some of it my own," Mapes said. "More'n you drew with your puny scratch."
"You'd rather I'd cut deeper?"
"Ah, no! The body's water is scant enough 'thout gushing a wasteful lot of it into the air.
You did the thing right."
And Jessica, noting the words and manner, caught the deeper implications in the phrase, 'the
body's water.' Again she felt a sense of oppression at the importance of water on Arrakis.
"On which side of the dining hall shall I hang which one of these pretties, my Lady?" Mapes
asked.
Ever the practical one, this Mapes, Jessica thought. She said: "Use your own judgment, Mapes.
It makes no real difference."
"As you say, my Lady." Mapes stooped, began clearing wrappings and twine from the head.
"Killed an old duke, did you?" she crooned.
"Shall I summon a handler to help you?" Jessica asked.
"I'll manage, my Lady."
Yes, she'll manage, Jessica thought. There's that about this Fremen creature: the drive to
manage.
Jessica felt the cold sheath of the crysknife beneath her bodice, thought of the long chain of
Bene Gesserit scheming that had forged another link here. Because of that scheming, she had
survived a deadly crisis. "It cannot be hurried," Mapes had said. Yet there was a tempo of
headlong rushing to this place that filled Jessica with foreboding. And not all the preparations
of the Missionaria Protectiva nor Hawat's suspicious inspection of this castellated pile of rocks
could dispel the feeling.
"When you've finished hanging those, start unpacking the boxes," Jessica said. "One of the
cargo men at the entry has all the keys and knows where things should go. Get the keys and the
list from him. If there are any questions I'll be in the south wing."
"As you will, my Lady," Mapes said.
Jessica turned away, thinking: Hawat may have passed this residency as safe, but there's
something wrong about the place. I can feel it.
An urgent need to see her son gripped Jessica. She began walking toward the arched doorway
that led into the passage to the dining hall and the family wings. Faster and faster she walked
until she was almost running.