Paul consulted his memory of the vision: in it, he'd left here with the names of the traitors, but never seeing how those names were carried. The dwarf obviously moved under the protection of another oracle. It occurred to Paul then that all creatures must carry some kind of destiny stamped out by purposes of varying strengths, by the fixation of training and disposition. From the moment the Jihad had chosen him, he'd felt himself hemmed in by the forces of a multitude. Their fixed purposes demanded and controlled his course. Any delusions of Free Will he harbored now must be merely the prisoner rattling his cage. His curse lay in the fact that he saw the cage. He saw it!
He listened now to the emptiness of this house: only the four of them in it - Dhuri, Otheym, the dwarf and himself. He inhaled the fear and tension of his companions, sensed the watchers - his own force hovering in 'thopters far overhead... and those others... next door.
I was wrong to hope, Paul thought. But thinking of hope brought him a twisted sense of hope, and he felt that he might yet seize his moment.
"Summon the dwarf," he said.
"Bijaz!" Dhuri called.
"You call me?" The dwarf stepped into the room from the courtyard, an alert expression of worry on his face.
"You have a new master, Bijaz," Dhuri said. She stared at Paul. "You may call him... Usul."
"Usul, that's the base of the pillar," Bijaz said, translating. "How can Usul be base when I'm the basest thing living?"
"He always speaks thus," Otheym apologized.
"I don't speak," Bijaz said. "I operate a machine called language. It creaks and groans, but is mine own."
A Tleilaxu toy, learned and alert, Paul thought. The Bene Tleilax never threw away something this valuable. He turned, studied the dwarf. Round melange eyes returned his stare.
"What other talents have you, Bijaz?" Paul asked.
"I know when we should leave," Bijaz said. "It's a talent few men have. There's a time for endings - and that's a good beginning. Let us begin to go, Usul."
Paul examined his vision memory: no dwarf, but the little man's words fitted the occasion.
"At the door, you called me Sire," Paul said. "You know me, then?"
"You've sired, Sire," Bijaz said, grinning. "You are much more than the base Usul. You're the Atreides Emperor, Paul Muad'dib. And you are my finger." He held up the index finger of his right hand.
"Bijaz!" Dhuri snapped. "You tempt fate."
"I tempt my finger," Bijaz protested, voice squeaking. He pointed at Usul. "I point at Usul. Is my finger not Usul himself? Or is it a reflection of something more base?" He brought the finger close to his eyes, examined it with a mocking grin, first one side then the other. "Ahhh, it's merely a finger, after all."
"He often rattles on thus," Dhuri said, worry in her voice. "I think it's why he was discarded by the Tleilaxu."
"I'll not be patronized," Bijaz said, "yet I have a new patron. How strange the workings of the finger." He peered at Dhuri and Otheym, eyes oddly bright. "A weak glue bound us, Otheym. A few tears and we part." The dwarfs big feet rasped on the floor as he whirled completely around, stopped facing Paul. "Ahhh, patron! I came the long way around to find you."
Paul nodded.
"You'll be kind, Usul?" Bijaz asked. "I'm a person, you know. Persons come in many shapes and sizes. This be but one of them. I'm weak of muscle, but strong of mouth; cheap to feed, but costly to fill. Empty me as you will, there's still more in me than men put there."
"We've no time for your stupid riddles," Dhuri growled. "You should be gone."
"I'm riddled with conundrums," Bijaz said, "but not all of them stupid. To be gone, Usul, is to be a bygone. Yes? Let us let bygones be bygones. Dhuri speaks truth, and I've the talent for hearing that, too."
"You've truthsense?" Paul asked, determined now to wait out the clockwork of his vision. Anything was better than shattering these moments and producing the new consequences. There remained things for Otheym to say lest Time be diverted into even more horrifying channels.
"I've now-sense" Bijaz said.
Paul noted that the dwarf had grown more nervous. Was the little man aware of things about to happen? Could Bijaz be his own oracle?
"Did you inquire of Lichna?" Otheym asked suddenly, peering up at Dhuri with his one good eye.
"Lichna is safe," Dhuri said.
Paul lowered his head, lest his expression betray the lie. Safe! Lichna was ashes in a secret grave.
"That's good then," Otheym said, taking Paul's lowered head for a nod of agreement. "One good thing among the evils, Usul. I don't like the world we're making, you know that? It was better when we were alone in the desert with only the Harkonnens for enemy."
"There's but a thin line between many an enemy and many a friend," Bijaz said. "Where that line stops, there's no beginning and no end. Let's end it, my friends." He moved to Paul's side, jittered from one foot to the other.
"What's now-sense?" Paul asked, dragging out these moments, goading the dwarf.
"Now!" Bijaz said, trembling. "Now! Now!" He tugged at Paul's robe. "Let us go now!"
"His mouth rattles, but there's no harm in him," Otheym said, affection in his voice, the one good eye staring at Bijaz.
"Even a rattle can signal departure," Bijaz said. "And so can tears. Let's be gone while there's time to begin."
"Bijaz, what do you fear?" Paul asked.