Underground on Kaitain, the Imperial necropolis covered as much area as the magnificent Palace itself. Generations of fallen Corrinos inhabited the city of the dead, those who had succumbed to treachery or accidents; a few had even died of natural causes.

When Count Hasimir Fenring returned from Ix, Shaddam immediately led his friend and advisor into the dank, poorly lit catacombs. “Is this how you celebrate the triumphant return of your Spice Minister? By dragging me down into musty old crypts, hmmm?”

Shaddam had dispensed with his usual retinue of bodyguards, and the two men were accompanied only by tethered orange glowglobes as they descended spiraling stairs. “We used to play down here as children, Hasimir. It gives me nostalgic feelings.”

Fenring nodded his overlarge head. His wide eyes flicked from side to side like those of a nocturnal bird, searching for assassins and booby traps. “Perhaps this is where I developed my fascination for lurking in shadows?”

Shaddam’s voice became harder, more Imperial. “It’s also a place where we can speak without fear of being spied upon. You and I have important matters to discuss.” Fenring grunted in approval.

Long ago, after moving the Imperial capital from ruined Salusa Secundus, Hassik Corrino III had been the first to be entombed beneath the megalithic building. Over the ensuing millennia, numerous Corrino emperors, concubines, and bastard children were also buried here. Some had been cremated and their ashes displayed in urns, while the bones of others were ground up to make porcelain funereal pieces. A few rulers were encased in transparent sarcophagi, sealed within nullentropy fields so that their bodies would never decay, even if their meager accomplishments were obscured by the fog of passing time.

As Fenring and Shaddam continued, they passed the sallow-faced old mummy of Mandias the Terrible, who lay in a chamber fronted by a fearsome, life-size statue of himself. According to the placard on his coffin, he was known as “the Emperor who made worlds tremble.”

“I am not impressed.” Shaddam looked at the withered husk. “Nobody even remembers him.”

“Only because you refused to study Imperial history,” Fenring countered with a thin smile. “Does a place such as this call to mind your own mortality, hmmm-ah?”

The Emperor scowled, surrounded by the rippling light of the mobile glowglobes. As they proceeded along the sloped rock floor, tiny creatures at the periphery skittered into shadows and cracks— spiders, rodents, modified scarabs that managed to survive by eating scraps of long-preserved flesh.

“What is this I hear about Elrood having a bastard son, hmmm? How could this have been hidden from us all these years?”

Shaddam whirled. “How do you know about that?”

Fenring answered with a condescending smile. “I have ears, Shaddam.”

“They are too large.”

“But used only in your service, Sire, hmmm?” He continued to speak, not waiting for the Emperor to make further excuses. “It does not appear that this Tyros Reffa has any desire for your throne, but in these times of growing unrest, he might be used as a figurehead by rebellious families, a rallying point.”

“But I am the true Emperor!”

“Sire, while the Landsraad swears fealty to House Corrino, they show no loyalty to you personally. You have managed to, hmmm-ah, irritate many of the most powerful nobles.”

“Hasimir, I am not required to worry about my subjects’ bruised egos.” Shaddam looked at the tomb of the ancient Mandias and muttered a curse against his old father Elrood for getting a child on one of his concubines. Surely an Emperor should have taken precautions?

As the need for burials continued century after century, the necropolis had been dug deeper, with more crypts hollowed out. In the lowest and most recent subterranean levels, Shaddam actually recognized some of the names of his ancestors.

Ahead lay the walled-up vault of Shaddam’s grandfather, Fondil III, known as “the Hunter.” The pitted iron door was flanked by the stuffed carcasses of two ferocious predators the man had killed: a spiny ecadroghe from the high plateaus of Ecaz and a tufted saber-bear from III Delta Kaising. Fondil, however, had taken his epithet from hunting men, ferreting out enemies and destroying them. His big-game adventures had been a mere diversion.

Shaddam and Fenring passed coffins and chambers for children and siblings, and finally an idealized statue of Elrood IX’s first heir, Fafnir. Years ago, Fafnir’s death (an “accident” arranged by young Fenring) had opened Shaddam’s path to the throne. Complacent, Fafnir had never imagined that his little brother’s friend could possibly be dangerous.

Only suspicious Elrood had imagined that Fenring and Shaddam might have been behind the murder. Though the boys never confessed, Elrood had cackled knowingly. “It shows initiative that you are able to make difficult decisions. But do not be so eager to take the responsibility of an Emperor. I still have many years left in my reign, and you must observe my example. Watch, and learn.”

And now Shaddam had to worry about the bastard Reffa, too.

He finally led Fenring to where the sealed ashes of Elrood IX waited in a relatively small alcove, adorned with shimmering diamondplaz, ornate scrollwork, and fine gems— a sufficient display of Shaddam’s grief at the loss of his “beloved father.”

The glowglobes came to a halt and shone down like bright embers. Disrespectfully, Shaddam leaned against the resting place of his father’s ashes. The old man had been cremated to foil any Suk physician’s attempts to determine the true cause of death.

“Twenty years, Hasimir. We’ve waited that long for the Tleilaxu to create synthetic spice.” Shaddam’s eyes were bright, his gaze intent. “What have you learned? Tell me when the Master Researcher is ready to go into full-scale production. I grow tired of waiting.”

Fenring tapped his own lips. “Ajidica was most anxious to reassure us about the progress, Sire, but I am not convinced that the substance has been thoroughly tested. It must meet our specifications. The repercussions of amal will make the galaxy tremble. We dare not commit any tactical errors.”

“What errors can there possibly be? He’s had two decades to test it. The Master Researcher says it’s ready.”

Fenring regarded the Emperor in the dim light. “And you trust what a Tleilaxu says?” Around him he could smell death and preservatives, perfumes, dust… and Shaddam’s nervous sweat. “I suggest we exercise caution, hmmm-ahh? I am arranging for a final test, one that will give us all the proof we need.”

“Yes, yes, give me no more details about your dull tests. I have seen Ajidica’s reports, and I do not understand half of what he says.”

“Just another month, Shaddam, perhaps two.”

Impatient and brooding, the lean-faced Emperor paced the crypt. Fenring tried to fathom the depth of his friend’s mood. The glowglobes, keyed to follow Shaddam, tried in vain to keep pace as he moved back and forth in the confined area.

“Hasimir, I am sick unto death of caution. All my life I have been waiting— waiting for my brother to die, waiting for my father to die, waiting for a son! And now that I have the throne, I find myself waiting for amal so that I can finally have the power a Corrino Emperor deserves.”

He stared at his clenched fist, as if he could see the visible lines of power trickling through his fingers. “I have a CHOAM Directorship, yet it carries no real ability to command. The Combine does whatever it wishes, because they can outvote me at any turn. The Spacing Guild is not required by law to follow my decrees, and if I don’t tread carefully, they could impose sanctions, withdraw transportation privileges, and shut down the entire Imperium.”

“I understand, Sire. But far more damaging, I believe, are the increasing examples of nobles defying and ignoring your commands. Look at Grumman and Ecaz— they continue their petty little war in violation of your peacekeeping efforts. Viscount Moritani practically spat in your face.”

Shaddam tried to step on a glossy black beetle, which succeeded in scuttling to safety in a crack. “Perhaps it is time to remind everyone exactly who is in command! When I have amal at my disposal, they will all have to dance to my tune. Spice from Arrakis will be prohibitively expensive.”

Fenring was contemplative, though. “Hmmm, many Great Houses have gathered their own melange stockpiles, though it is against an admittedly ancient and obscure law. For centuries, no one has bothered to enforce this edict.”

Shaddam glowered. “What does that matter?”

Fenring’s nose twitched. “It matters, Sire, because when the time comes to announce your monopoly on synthetic melange, such illegal stockpiles will allow the noble families to resist buying amal for some time.”

“I see.” Shaddam blinked as if he had not considered this. He brightened. “Then we must confiscate those hoards so that the other Houses have no cushion when I cut off the flow of melange.”

“True, Sire, but if you alone crack down on hoarders, the Great Houses may rally against you. I suggest instead that you cement your alliances so you can deliver Imperial justice from a position of greater strength. Remember, honey can be a sticky trap as well as a sweet reward, mmm?”

Shaddam’s impatience was clear. “What are you talking about?”

“Let the Guild and CHOAM locate the perpetrators and bring evidence of guilt to you. Your own Sardaukar can confiscate the stockpiles, after which you reward CHOAM and the Guild with a portion of the confiscated spice. The promise of such a prize should give them an incentive to uncover the most cleverly hidden hoards.”

Fenring watched the wheels turning in the Emperor’s mind. “In that way, Sire, you maintain the moral high ground, while keeping the full cooperation of the Guild and CHOAM. And you get rid of the Landsraad stockpiles.”

Shaddam smiled. “I shall begin at once. I’ll make a decree—”

Fenring cut him off. The wandering glowglobes paused as the Emperor did. “We will have to find some other way to deal with the spice on Arrakis itself. Perhaps we could install an overwhelming Imperial military force there to block access to the natural melange fields.”

“The Guild would never transport the troops there, Hasimir. They won’t cut their own throats. How else are we going to shut down operations on Arrakis?”

The tomb’s idealized image of Elrood IX seemed to be watching these discussions with amusement. “Hmmm-ah, we might need a ruse, Sire. I’m sure we could come up with a justification to take control away from House Harkonnen. We could call it a change of fief. They’re due for one in a decade or so anyway.”

“Can you imagine the Guild’s reaction when they find out, Hasimir, after they’ve helped me ferret out the illegal spice stockpiles?” Shaddam said, twitching with excitement. “I have always been irked at the power of the Guild, but melange is their Achilles—”

Then a slow smile crept across his face as an intriguing idea occurred to him. His look of delight made Fenring uneasy. “All right, Hasimir. We can score two victories with one blow.”

The Count was puzzled. “Which two victories, Sire?”

“Tyros Reffa. We know the bastard has been coddled by House Taligari. I believe he has an estate on Zanovar, which I can easily verify.” The Emperor’s smile widened. “And if we were to find a convenient spice hoard on Zanovar, wouldn’t that be a fine place to begin our crusade?”

“Hmmm-ah,” Fenring said, with a grin of his own. “An excellent idea, Sire. Zanovar would indeed make a perfect place for a vigorous first strike, a lovely example. And if the bastard should accidentally be killed… all the better.”

The two men left the deepest crypts and began to walk uphill toward the main section of the Palace. Fenring looked behind him to the end of the stone tunnel.

The Corrino necropolis might soon have need of another crypt.