After they had been shown to separate quarters in the Ecazi Palace, Paul visited his mother in her room. Jessica was quiet, absorbed in her thoughts; she herself had taught him how to read subtle nuances, and he could see how troubled she was. Obviously, his father had not discussed the betrothal announcement with her beforehand.

Logically, and politically, the arrangement had its advantages. Marriage was a tool of statecraft in the Imperium, a weapon as powerful as any lasgun in the Atreides military arsenal. But apparently Duke Leto kept secrets and political realities even from his beloved concubine.

“It will be all right, Paul,” Jessica said, and she did sound sincere. “I will stay in this room and continue my Bene Gesserit exercises, but you, Paul — no matter what else is happening, seize this as a learning opportunity. When it is time for us all to leave Ecaz, I want you to have a greater breadth of understanding. File away all these details and organize your thoughts using the techniques I have taught you.”

The very strangeness of Ecaz proved an irresistible distraction to Paul. He studied sunlit rooms whose walls reflected a trapezoidal architecture, without the perfection of perpendicular intersections. The palace grounds held an amazing topiary garden of lush plant sculptures — men, animals, and monsters — that moved with gentle grace, turning and weaving as the sun crossed the sky. A mesh-enclosed arena filled with large jewel-toned butterflies offered quite a spectacle during the twice-daily feeding-frenzy when workers entered the arena carrying dishes of syrupy nectar.

When he went to find his father, Duke Leto was locked in a conference room with Armand Ecaz. Guards and, worse, bureaucratic functionaries clustered at the doorway, and prevented him from entering. At midmorning, though, when servants delivered refreshments for the meeting, Paul finally slipped into the conference room and caught his father’s eye. Duke Leto appeared tired, but he smiled when he saw the boy. “Paul, I am sorry we’ve ignored you. These negotiations are very complex.”

Armand Ecaz lounged back in his chair. “Come now, Leto, they aren’t as difficult as all that.”

“Go find Duncan, Paul. He’ll keep you occupied — and safe.”

At a signal from Duke Leto, the stuffy Ecazi guard captain took the young man by the sleeve and led him out of the room, apologizing profusely to the Archduke for the interruption. Paul knew he would never have gotten past Thufir Hawat’s security back in Castle Caladan.

He located Duncan, Rivvy Dinari, and Whitmore Bludd out on the training field embroiled in a melee. The three were shirtless and armed with blunt-ended pulse swords that could deliver potent, stinging shocks; all three men had angry-looking red welts on their arms, chests, and shoulders. As he watched, Paul couldn’t quite tell who was fighting whom: Duncan threw himself upon Bludd, Dinari attacked Duncan, and then Bludd and Duncan ganged up on the fat Swordmaster. Finally, the three lowered their weapons, exhausted, dripping with perspiration and wearing foolish grins.

“He hasn’t forgotten much,” Dinari admitted to the thin and foppish Bludd. “He must practice occasionally.”

Finished and weary, the three switched off their shields and stood leaning on the pulse-swords on the trampled practice ground. Bludd tipped an imaginary hat in Paul’s direction. “We gave the young man a magnificent demonstration.”

“At least an entertaining one,” Rivvy Dinari said. “You were clumsy as an ox today.”

Bludd sniffed. “I scored five nasty welts on you. Then again, your body does have a great deal more surface area than the average opponent.”

Duncan toweled himself off with a fluffy rectangle woven from Elaccan eiderdown. Paul had read in filmbooks how the substance was spun from the burst seedpods of a tall, purple-leafed tree.

Paul stepped up to him. “My mother told me to learn what I can about Ecaz, and my father told me that you would keep me occupied.”

“Certainly, young Master, but no sword training right now. After my workout with these two, even you might be able to beat me.”

“I have already bested you three times.”

“Twice. I refused to concede one of them.”

“Your refusal doesn’t change the facts.” Dinari and Bludd seemed to find the conversation amusing. Duncan led him inside for a round of tame filmbook studies.