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felt astonishment: she was talking about such elementary things as
tension within meaning. Did she think his mother had taught him nothing at all?
    “That’s a hint?” he asked.
    “We’re not here to bandy words or quibble over their meaning,” the old woman
said. “The willow submits to the wind and prospers until one day it is many
willows — a wall against the wind. This is the willow’s purpose.”
    Paul stared at her. She said purpose and he felt the word buffet him,
reinfecting him with terrible purpose. He experienced a sudden anger at her:
fatuous old witch with her mouth full of platitudes.
    “You think I could be this Kwisatz Haderach,” he said. “You talk about me,
but you haven’t said one thing about what we can do to help my father. I’ve
heard you talking to my mother. You talk as though my father were dead. Well, he
isn’t!”
    “If there were a thing to be done for him, we’d have done it,” the old woman
growled. “We may be able to salvage you. Doubtful, but possible. But for your
father, nothing. When you’ve learned to accept that as a fact, you’ve learned a
real Bene Gesserit lesson.”
    Paul saw how the words shook his mother. He glared at the old woman. How
could she say such a thing about his father? What made her so sure? His mind
seethed with resentment.
    The Reverend Mother looked at Jessica. “You’ve been training him in the Way
– I’ve seen the signs of it. I’d have done the same in your shoes and devil
take the Rules.”
    Jessica nodded.
    “Now, I caution you,” said the old woman, “to ignore the regular order of
training. His own safety requires the Voice. He already has a good start in it,
but we both know how much more he needs . . . and that desperately.” She stepped
close to Paul, stared down at him. “Goodbye, young human. I hope you make it.
But if you don’t — well, we shall yet succeed.”
    Once more she looked at Jessica. A flicker sign of understanding passed
between them. Then the old woman swept from the room, her robes hissing, with
not another backward glance. The room and its occupants already were shut from
her thoughts.
    But Jessica had caught one glimpse of the Reverend Mother’s face as she
turned away. There had been tears on the seamed cheeks. The tears were more
unnerving than any other word or sign that had passed between them this day.
    = = = = = =
    You have read that Muad’Dib had no playmates his own age on Caladan. The dangers
were too great. But Muad’Dib did have wonderful companion-?teachers. There was
Gurney Halleck, the troubadour-?warrior. You will sing some of Gurney’s songs, as
you read along in this book. There was Thufir Hawat, the old Mentat Master of
Assassins, who struck fear even into the heart of the Padishah Emperor. There
were Duncan Idaho, the Swordmaster of the Ginaz; Dr. Wellington Yueh, a name
black in treachery but bright in knowledge; the Lady Jessica, who guided her son
in the Bene Gesserit Way, and — of course — the Duke Leto, whose qualities as
a father have long been overlooked.
-from “A Child’s History of Muad’Dib” by the Princess Irulan
    Thufir Hawat slipped into the training room of Castle Caladan, closed the
door softly. He stood there a moment, feeling old and tired and storm-?leathered.
His left leg ached where it had been slashed once in the service of the Old
Duke.
    Three generations of them now, he thought.
    He stared across the big room bright with the light of noon pouring through
the skylights, saw the boy seated with back to the door, intent on papers and
charts spread across an ell table.
    How many times must I tell that lad never to settle himself with his back to
a door? Hawat cleared his throat.
    Paul remained bent over his studies.
    A cloud shadow passed over the skylights. Again, Hawat cleared his throat.
    Paul straightened, spoke without turning: “I know. I’m sitting with my back
to a door.”
    Hawat suppressed a smile,