“The money came from the most famous hero of the Jihad,” Engelo said. “Vorian Atreides.”
Vor concealed his smile. He liked hearing that his money went to good use.
“Shander’s a good man, runs a business mending nets now — likes to keep busy, even though he invested well. He took the two boys in after their parents were killed in a hurricane.”
Danson picked up the story, as if to prove he wasn’t really stupid. “The tragedy happened eleven or twelve years ago. Willem just turned eighteen, and Orry is twenty — but Willem’s the one who looks older and acts older. Nice, polite young men, both of them. I hear Orry’s due to get married soon, a whirlwind romance with a girl from inland.”
“Thanks.” Pleased that he already had a lead to follow, Vor paid and left a half-finished beer on the table. He was anxious to meet his relatives. Shander, Willem, and Orry were undoubtedly descended from Estes or Kagin. He felt ashamed that he didn’t know any details of their lives. But that would change.
Engelo called out to him, “Say, you never told us your name.”
Vor acted as if he hadn’t heard as he strode up the stairway to his rented room. He had used one of his aliases when checking in, but intended to reveal who he truly was to his own descendants, and then word would surely spread. He was caught between desiring to hold on to the anonymity he’d enjoyed for so long and wanting to reunite with his family on Caladan.
Sitting in his room, he thought of how much history had passed since he’d last visited this planet — and how little had changed here. He opened the window to let in the cool breezes and gazed out at the rugged village. Long ago he’d had many fine years here — hauling in the fresh catch, sharing good times with family and friends, surviving storms at sea. Living life. It seemed like so long ago, partly a dream. As time passed, his recollections faded. In Vor’s overfull memory, the faces were dim, but at least the personalities were brighter. He missed all those people he’d known here, but they were long, long gone.
He heard a sharp rap at the door of his room, and felt his pulse quicken. He was alert for danger, wondering if someone had hunted him down. Or maybe it was just the innkeeper with an innocuous question. He opened the door, smiling as if to greet an old friend he’d been expecting, but ready for anything.
An older man stood before him; he wore stained work clothes and tied his shaggy gray hair in a ponytail. Something about him looked familiar … perhaps the patrician nose or the deeply set gray eyes with a sparkle of impish intelligence.
“I’m Shander Atreides,” he said. “The innkeeper sent a message that you were asking about me. I don’t know why I’d be interesting enough for you to buy rounds of kelpbeer for the information, though.…”
They went down to the bar, and Vor couldn’t stop smiling. “I’ll buy a second round if you’ll talk with me a while longer. I have a story to tell you, though I doubt you’ll believe it.”
“I’ve heard plenty of unbelievable stories,” Shander said. “But I’ll take that kelpbeer.”
The two men spent hours at their table chatting, trying to sort out the complicated web of their relationship. Vor attempted to trace the generations, following Shander’s parents and grandparents back to Vor’s own son Kagin, and learning that Willem and Orry were from the line that descended from Estes.
Even after revealing his true identity to Shander, Vor felt a sense of serenity about his confession. The old fisherman laughed and refused to believe him at first, but as Vor told more and more stories, long into the night, Shander began to change his mind.
“You’re really Vorian Atreides?” he said, with a slight slur of his words. “The Vorian Atreides?”
“That I am. Pay no attention to the face on that statue outside of town. The details aren’t quite accurate.”
“I never thought about it, just assumed the features were right. I have to admit, you do look a lot more like me than that statue does.”
Reaching across the table, Vor clasped the fisherman’s muscular arm. “We’re Atreides through and through, both of us.”
Shander’s gaze sharpened. “I believe you’re telling the truth.”
“Usually I don’t tell anyone who I am. I’ve been working at various jobs around the Imperium under assumed names, even checked into this inn under another name.”
“And you need to check out of this inn,” Shander said. “Come stay with me and the boys in my house. We have plenty of room.”
“Not yet.” Vor shook his head in determination. “I don’t want to intrude, and besides, I’m an independent sort. I can be difficult to get along with.”
“Aw, you’re just saying that, Vor. I never met a man I liked more than you, and I can tell that right off.”
Vor grinned. “Give me time, and I’ll wear on you. Thanks for the generous offer, but no, I’ll stay in the inn for now. I’ve got plenty of money. You know I do, because I sent you the stake to get your fishing business started.”
“That was decades ago!”
Vor just nodded.
“Then my house is really yours. Or at least, you hold a mortgage on it.”
“No, Shander, you earned the house. Any money I have is for my family, and that includes you. If things work out for me here, I’ll build my own place. But first let’s see how things go.”
Chapter 45 (I keep my eyes open and observe)
I keep my eyes open and observe. And when I peer into hearts and souls, I see evil much more often than I see good — because I know exactly what to look for.
— SISTER WOODRA, Truthsayer to Manford Torondo
By the time the VenHold supply ship arrived at Baridge, ending the embargo to wild cheering and applause, Anari Idaho was already there, lying in wait with her faithful Butlerians.
Anari and a hundred volunteers had arrived a full day earlier on the EsconTran ship, rushing to Baridge before Venport Holdings could deliver a bloated cargo of rewards and bribes for the weak-willed. She came unobtrusively, telling her Butlerian fighters to remain quiet. They wore normal Baridge clothing, filtering fabrics that provided some protection from the solar radiation.
During the VenHold embargo, Manford had maintained his contacts with Baridge residents who were dedicated to his cause. Much of the planetary population remained true to their pledge, even though the weak deacons allowed themselves to be tempted by Venport. Anari knew who the loyal ones were, and she moved surreptitiously throughout the city, organizing them to bolster the force she had brought with her. She did not make contact with the turncoat Deacon Kalifer, whom she despised for having been seduced by the temptation of imported luxuries.
The locals were pleased to see Anari, glad someone was there to tell them how they were supposed to react, now that their own leaders had broken under pressure. Yes, the people of Baridge needed medical salves and cancer treatments due to the upswing in the solar cycle, but above anything else they needed faith.
Her first night on Baridge, Anari met in secret with a core group of true followers. They talked under the open sky, because night was the safest time to venture outside, when the radiation flux was diminished. Overhead, the auroras looked like silent scarves of fire, shimmering colors draped across the darkness.
Many of the faithful showed her the skin lesions they had suffered after VenHold criminally cut off their medical supplies; some displayed cancerous growths on their faces, noses, and arms, which they wore like badges of honor. Seeing what these people were enduring, Anari admired them for not listening to the silky promises of Josef Venport and his lapdog Suk doctors.