The scar of their lost daughter would always be with them, but Roderick needed to find a way to function. Though he would never admit it aloud, he knew the Imperium depended on him. Salvador couldn’t rule by himself.
For his few days of escape out in the quiet forest, Roderick was accompanied by three friends, one of whom owned a small lodge. The simple accommodations were rugged enough that even a Butlerian would have found nothing to object to. After the mayhem in the streets, Roderick found the lodge relaxing. He cleared his mind and tried to think of nothing other than hunting Salusan pheasants and roasting them over a fire.
But he couldn’t forget the terrible loss of Nantha for long, or his duties to Salvador, and all too soon he had to return to the Imperial Palace. Despite the brief respite, his heart wasn’t healed.
Arriving back in Zimia, he encountered an immediate reminder of why he had left. In the large central square outside the Hall of Parliament, Grand Inquisitor Quemada and his Scalpel team were putting on a public demonstration while Imperial soldiers stood guard over the proceedings. The Emperor had decided that showing off the skills of his interrogators would be an excellent deterrent to crime. Roderick did not approve, considering Dorotea’s subtle Truthsayer skills much more effective … but his brother insisted on the show.
A boisterous crowd had gathered to watch, and Roderick felt a knot form in his stomach. The imposing, black-haired Quemada was already on his fourth victim.
After what had happened to poor Nantha, Roderick would have liked to see Manford Torondo undergo such an ordeal. All the violence he had sparked, all those innocent lives lost … He closed his eyes and imagined.
As a beefy woman in an Imperial army uniform led him toward the Emperor’s observation suite, she explained what was going on, assuming Roderick would want to know. “Four petty criminals so far, my Lord. The Grand Inquisitor’s team has subjected them to various forms of ‘coaxing.’ Ancient methods, but they are all quite effective. Entertaining, too.”
Glancing through a wide window, Roderick saw a portable strappado out in the plaza, along with a spiked chair, compression helmets, and a medieval rack. Far from being modern and streamlined, each item was a functional museum piece from distant history with a brutish design. It was to create an intimidating effect, Roderick knew. After intensive training at the Suk Medical School, the Scalpel practitioners could wring agony from their captives using nothing more than a pebble or a stylus.
Three men lay on the stone pavement off to one side, bleeding and trembling, having been released from the interrogation machinery after confessing to the inquisitor’s satisfaction. A fourth man was having his fingers and toes crushed one at a time, which made him scream horrendously; so far, though, he had not admitted anything.
Prince Roderick grimaced, not certain what he found more offensive — the barbaric display or the cheering of the crowd. He hurried up to the Emperor’s suite, hoping to talk sense into Salvador, to warn him against playing into the barbaric madness embraced by the Butlerians. Was his brother creating a culture in which vicious destruction became ordinary and expected?
Roderick thought that Directeur Josef Venport was fighting on the correct side of the divide — reason versus violence. Salvador would have to be strong to stand up to the swelling antitechnology movement, but he was deathly afraid of the Butlerians. Roderick would discuss the matter with him in private and advise the best course of action, seeking to bolster his courage and strengthen his resolve.
Quemada’s latest victim screamed and then slumped from the excruciating pain. Irritated that he hadn’t answered all the questions, the Grand Inquisitor called for another subject, to a rising swell of cheers. This seemed as mad as the Butlerian rampage festival. Emperor Salvador should have known better than to incite the crowds, which could so easily get out of control. Unable to bear more of the harsh scene, Roderick entered the suite.
Salvador received him with a warm smile that made him uncomfortable. The Emperor wore one of his assorted lavish military uniforms, this one crimson and white, with a golden lion on the lapel. “Ah, I’m so glad you joined me. I was about to go out on the balcony while I have my coffee. I have some fresh melange from Arrakis, if you want it.”
The loud cheers outside tightened the knot in Roderick’s stomach, making him think of Manford’s murderous mob as they rampaged through the city. “I’d rather stay inside, if you don’t mind. That reminds me of the tortures the thinking machines inflicted upon us. We’re supposed to be better than machines.”
Salvador looked disappointed by the comment. He stood at the window, gazing out at the crowd, then slumped casually on a sofa inside the office. “Have your way, then.” He motioned for a female aide to deliver the coffee service to a small sitting area on the right of his goldenwood desk.
Roderick said in a heavy voice, “You once told me you wanted justice to be an enduring legacy of your reign. What’s happening out there in the plaza is not justice.”
“The crowd seems to like the show. It’s a pressure release for them.” As Salvador spoke, the throng roared and cheered.
“But it’s adding fuel to flames. Once a crowd gets a taste for violence, they’ll burn down half the city and kill anyone who happens to be in the way, including little girls and their nannies.”
Salvador blinked. “Ah, of course! I’m sorry. I didn’t think how it would remind you of what happened to your daughter.”
“Everything reminds me of Nantha.” Roderick clenched his hands into fists at his sides as he struggled to maintain a professional demeanor. His brother needed him. He said, “There are other ways to get information, Sire. A Truthsayer could extract the answers far more efficiently — and reliably — than this torture. Those victims out there confess only because of the pain, not because they cannot hide their lies.”
Salvador sipped his coffee, added more melange. “My Grand Inquisitor serves his purpose, too. No one is going to cower in terror of a black-robed woman who simply stands there and listens in silence.”
“Nevertheless, by listening in silence, Sister Dorotea discovered the fraud perpetrated by House Péle.”
Salvador sniffed. “Quemada got more information out of Blanton Davido afterward.”
“And killed him in the process. Dorotea could have obtained the same information, and more, and we would have had a living hostage.”
“Or a convicted prisoner, headed for execution.”
Roderick did not want to disagree. “Either way, Omak Péle might not have been frightened into going renegade. I advise that we rely more on Sister Dorotea and her Truthsayers for interrogations, and avoid these public displays of cruelty.”
“What would be the fun in that?” Salvador muttered in a voice so quiet that Roderick barely heard him. Then he spoke louder. “Perhaps a challenge! We should test the two of them, have Sister Dorotea question Quemada with her methods … and then let my Grand Inquisitor question her in return.”
“He would kill her!”
Salvador waved a finger. “Not if he knows it would displease me.”
Roderick thought about Dorotea’s strength and focus; as a Reverend Mother, she had achieved a level of bodily control that Roderick could not begin to understand. Maybe his brother was right. He remained uneasy that Dorotea’s orthodox Sisters so openly sided with the violent Butlerians, but surely a Truthsayer’s interrogation had to be less barbaric than this.
The Emperor summoned his aide again, smiling at Roderick. “Let’s have a civilized demonstration of their respective abilities. We’ll serve tea and little spice cookies.”