There are countless definitions and interpretations of a life well spent, and of the opposite. There are often widely divergent biographies of a particular person. The same individual can be either demon or saint, and even shades of both.

—from The Wisdom of Muad’Dib by the PRINCESS IRULAN

Aboard the Heighliner, Rheinvar gathered his troupe in a large, echoing compartment that the Wayku had provided for them to relax in together. Their belongings had been containerized and placed in a cargo hold of the great ship. The Jongleur leader strutted back and forth, smiling. “Balut is our next venue. For the first time ever, we play the famed Theater of Shards!”

Though the Face Dancers showed neither enthusiasm nor disappointment, the other troupe members murmured with excitement. Bronso perked up and whispered to Paul. “My grandmother was from Balut. Lady Shando—”

Paul nudged him. Though they had provided their first names, neither boy had revealed much about their identities. Bronso fell silent, but one of the Face Dancers—Sielto?—leaned closer. “Your family comes from there, young man?”

Paul said in a hard voice, “Do Face Dancers have unusually acute hearing? And no respect for personal privacy?”

The shape-shifter smiled. “Old Emperor Elrood had a concubine named Shando, and she was from Balut.”

“Shando is a common name there, especially after the Emperor’s concubine,” Bronso said. “Many families fantasized that their own daughters might go off to join the Imperial court.”

“I see.” The Face Dancer was maddeningly unreadable. “That certainly explains the coincidence.”

Before they reached Balut, Rheinvar held several private sessions with Paul and Bronso. “If you two are going to be part of this troupe, I should teach you simple techniques that Jongleurs use to generate enthusiasm in the audience, to enhance emotions and make the people love you, cheer for you, follow your lead. Won’t there be times in your lives that you need to convince others? Maybe even large crowds?”

“But we’re not Master Jongleurs,” Paul said.

“No mass hypnosis, no telepathic techniques, or complex tricks—those things are not necessary for you to know. But at the very least, you both need to be competent orators in order to spread the word on various planets about our upcoming shows. Let me show you how to mesmerize the listeners!”

Rheinvar leaned closer, striking a pose with an utterly sincere and captivating smile. “You see, much of the technique of convincing people, of selling them, involves the careful use of voice and facial expressions. Once you master the subtle art of manipulating people—either one at a time, or in great numbers—you will always be able to achieve your goals.”

As the two boys sat down to listen and Rheinvar began his instruction, Paul was reminded of some of the lessons his mother had taught him about Bene Gesserit techniques and manipulations.

He frowned, having second thoughts. “If you have to trick people into cooperating with you, then you are not an honorable person.” It went against everything Duke Leto had taught him, but he recalled seeing a harder side of his father when it came to political realities.

“Honor or dishonor depends on how you employ your talents, not the nature of the talents themselves. Surely there’s nothing wrong with encouraging people to attend an entertaining show?”

As the passengers filed off into the Balut terminal building, Paul was surprised to see so much security. Hypervigilant red-uniformed soldiers monitored all exits, all lines of people.

“More internal troubles?” he said to Bronso.

“Every Great and Minor House feuds with other noble families, I suppose.”

Joining them on the deck, Sielto grinned at Paul. “The more arguments, the more customers for us. Balut is a cesspool of saboteurs and agents for each side.” Now that the boys knew their secret, the Face Dancers were oddly casual about their secondary profession.

“You’ve wasted no time doing your research on local tensions, I see,” Bronso said.

Sielto acted nonthreatening, even trustworthy. “It is an important part of my job. The ruling Kio family has entered into an alliance with House Heiron, a wealthy but minor offworld family. House Heiron has only been on Balut for a couple of decades, and already they control the most exquisitely talented crystal carvers, glassmakers, and etchers. Now the Heirons have worked their way into Governor Kio’s inner power circle.”

“And some of the old-guard families don’t like it,” Paul said with a sigh. “Naturally.” He scanned the crowd as people milled around. The arriving passengers lined up to pass through a series of checkpoints.

“They don’t want Balut tainted by outsiders.” The Face Dancer smiled.

At the security checkpoints, all of the troupe’s cargo cases, prop wardrobes, and animal cages received an intense examination. Neither Paul nor Bronso carried identity documents, nor did many of the troupe members, so they passed through secondary screening, where they were thoroughly catalogued.

Ahead of Paul in line, Bronso pressed his hand against an identity plate, and a silvery scanner light bathed him. Unlike the previous passengers, Bronso remained under the glow for a long moment. Paul held his breath, sure that they had been caught.

A suspicious, red-uniformed officer told Bronso to stand still as he checked the readings. Paul swallowed hard as the line backed up behind them, and a guard diverted him to a second scanner, where he was sure he’d trigger a security alert as well. He swallowed hard as he went through the identification process—but he passed without anyone giving him a second glance.

Paul glanced over to where the uniformed officer looked Bronso up and down, scowling. “Scanner says you’re a member of the former Balut noble family.” The redheaded boy was disheveled, his clothes stained and threadbare, a roustabout scamp traveling with a Jongleur troupe.

“Yeah, I get confused with royalty all the time,” Bronso said with bold sarcasm. The guard glanced at his companion, and both let out loud guffaws. They pushed him through and called the next person forward. Bronso joined Paul, wiping perspiration from his forehead. Sielto followed close behind.