In a dome-roofed chamber of his Residency at Arrakeen, Hasimir Fenring contemplated a difficult mind-teaser puzzle: a holo-representation of geometrical shapes, rods, cones, and spheres that fitted together and balanced perfectly . . . but only when all of the electropotentials were evenly spaced.

During his youth, he had played similar games in the Imperial Court of Kaitain; Fenring usually won. In those years, he’d learned much about politics and conflicting powers— learning more, in fact, than Shaddam ever had. And the Crown Prince had realized it.

“Hasimir, you’re much more valuable to me away from the Imperial Court,” Shaddam had said when sending him away. “I want you on Arrakis watching over those untrustworthy Harkonnens and making sure my spice revenues are untouched— at least until the damned Tleilaxu finish their amal research.”

Rich yellow sunlight drizzled through the dome windows, distorted by house shields that diverted the day’s heat while protecting the mansion against possible mob attacks. Fenring simply couldn’t abide the high temperatures on Arrakis.

For eighteen years now, Fenring had built his power base in Arrakeen. At the Residency, he lived with all the comforts and pleasures he could wring from this dustbowl. He felt content enough in his position.

He placed one shimmering puzzle stick above a tetra-hedron, almost let go, then adjusted the piece to precisely the correct location.

Willowbrook, the slack-jawed chief of his guard force, chose that moment to stride in and clear his throat, shattering Fenring’s concentration. “The water merchant Rondo Tuek has requested an audience with you, my Lord Count.”

In disgust, the Count switched off the pulsing puzzle before the separate pieces could tumble across the table. “What does he want, hmmm?”

“ ‘Personal business,’ he called it. But he stressed that it is important.”

Fenring tapped long fingers on the tabletop where the brain-teaser puzzle had glowed moments before. The water merchant had never requested a private audience. Why would Tuek come here now? He must want something.

Or he knows something.

Typically, the odd-looking merchant attended banquets and social functions. Knowing the true seat of power on Arrakis, he provided Fenring’s household with extravagant amounts of water, more than the Harkonnen overlords received in Carthag.

“Ahhh, he’s aroused my curiosity. Send him in, and see that we’re not disturbed for fifteen minutes.” The Count pursed his lips. “Hmmm-mm, after that, I’ll decide whether or not I want you to take him away.”

Moments later, the lumpy-shouldered Tuek entered the domed chamber with a rolling gait, swinging his arms as he walked. He swiped a hand across his rusty-gray hair, smoothing it into place with sweat, then bowed. The man looked flushed from ascending so many stairs; Fenring smiled, approving of Willowbrook’s decision to make him climb rather than offering the private lift that would have brought him directly to this level.

Fenring remained at his table, but did not motion for the visitor to sit; the water merchant stood in his formal silver robe, wearing a gaudy necklace of dust-pitted platinum links around his throat, no doubt sandstorm-scoured in a rough attempt at Arrakis art.

“Do you have something for me?” Fenring inquired, flaring his nostrils. “Or do you wish something from me, hmmm-ah?”

“I can provide you with a name, Count Fenring,” Tuek said without prettying his words. “As for what I wish in return—” He shrugged his lumpy shoulders. “I expect you will pay me as you see fit.”

“So long as our expectations are commensurate. What is this name . . . and why should I care?”

Tuek leaned forward like a tree about to fall. “It’s a name you haven’t heard in years. I suspect you’ll find it interesting. I know the Emperor will.”

Fenring waited, but not patiently. Finally, Tuek continued. “The man has kept a low profile on Arrakis, even as he does his best to disrupt your activities here. He wishes revenge on the entire Imperial House, though his original quarrel was with Elrood IX.”

“Oh, everyone had a quarrel with Elrood,” Fenring said. “He was a hateful old vulture. Who is this man?”

“Dominic Vernius,” Tuek replied.

Fenring sat straight up, his bright, overlarge eyes widening further. “The Earl of Ix? I thought he was dead.”

“Your bounty hunters and Sardaukar never caught him. He has been hiding here on Arrakis, with a few other smugglers. I do a little business with them now and then.”

Fenring sniffed. “You didn’t inform me immediately? How long have you known?”

“My Lord Fenring,” Tuek said, sounding overly reasonable, “Elrood signed the vendetta papers against the renegade House, and he’s been dead for many years. As far as I could tell, Dominic seemed to be causing no harm. He’d already lost everything . . . and other problems demanded my attention.” The water merchant took a deep breath. “Now, however, matters have changed. I feel it’s my duty to inform you, because I know you have the Emperor’s ear.”

“And what exactly has changed, hmmm?” In the back of Fenring’s mind, wheels were turning. House Vernius had disappeared long ago. Lady Shando had been killed by Sardaukar hunters. Exiled on Caladan, the Vernius children were considered no threat.

But an angry and vengeful Dominic Vernius could cause damage, especially so close to the precious spice sands. Fenring had to ponder this.

“Earl Vernius requested a heavy transport. He seemed . . . extremely disturbed, and may be planning a strike of some sort. In my opinion, this might mean an assassination plot against the Emperor. That was when I knew I had to come to you.”

Fenring raised his eyebrows, wrinkling his forehead. “Because you thought I would pay you a greater reward than Dominic’s bribes add up to?”

Tuek spread his hands and responded with a deprecating smile, but did not deny the accusation. Fenring respected the man for that. Now at least everyone’s motivations were clear.

He ran a finger along his thin lips, still pondering. “Very well, Tuek. Tell me where to find the renegade Earl’s hiding place. Explicit details, please. And before you depart, see my exchequer. Make a list of everything you require, every desire or reward you could imagine— and then I’ll choose. I’ll grant you whatever I believe your information was worth.”

Tuek didn’t quibble, but bowed. “Thank you, Count Fenring. I am pleased to be of service.”

After providing the known details of the smugglers’ antarctic facility, Tuek backed toward the door just as Willowbrook reentered, precisely at the end of fifteen minutes.

“Willowbrook, take my friend to our treasure rooms. He knows what to do, hmmm? For the rest of the afternoon, leave me in peace. I have much thinking to occupy me.”

After the men departed and the door to the chamber slid shut, Fenring paced, humming to himself, alternately smiling and frowning. Finally, he switched on his brain-teaser puzzle again. It would help him relax so that he could focus his thoughts.

Fenring enjoyed plots within plots, spinning wheels concealed within wheels. Dominic Vernius was an intelligent adversary, and most resourceful. He had eluded Imperial detection for years, and Fenring thought it would be most satisfying to let the renegade Earl have a hand in his own destruction.

Count Fenring would keep his eyes open, extending the spiderweb, but he would let Vernius make the next move. As soon as the renegade had everything in place for his own plans, then Fenring would strike.

He would enjoy giving the outlaw nobleman just enough rope to hang himself. . . .