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She
thought
not
.
This
had
been
the
government
mansion
in
the
days
of
the
Old
Empire
.
Costs
had
been
of
less
importance
then
.
It
had
been
before
the
Harkonnens
and
their
new
megalopolis
of
Carthag
—
a
cheap
and
brassy
place
some
two
hundred
kilometers
northeast
across
the
Broken
Land
.
Leto
had
been
wise
to
choose
this
place
for
his
seat
of
government
.
The
name
,
Arrakeen
,
had
a
good
sound
,
filled
with
tradition
.
And
this
was
a
smaller
city
,
easier
to
sterilize
and
defend
.
Again
there
came
the
clatter
of
boxes
being
unloaded
in
the
entry
.
Jessica
sighed
.
Against
a
carton
to
her
right
stood
the
painting
of
the
Duke
’
s
father
.
Wrapping
twine
hung
from
it
like
a
frayed
decoration
.
A
piece
of
the
twine
was
still
clutched
in
Jessica
’
s
left
hand
.
Beside
the
painting
lay
a
black
bull
’
s
head
mounted
on
a
polished
board
.
The
head
was
a
dark
island
in
a
sea
of
wadded
paper
.
Its
plaque
lay
flat
on
the
floor
,
and
the
bull
’
s
shiny
muzzle
pointed
at
the
ceiling
as
though
the
beast
were
ready
to
bellow
a
challenge
into
this
echoing
room
.
Jessica
wondered
what
compulsion
had
brought
her
to
uncover
those
two
things
first
—
the
head
and
the
painting
.
She
knew
there
was
something
symbolic
in
the
action
.
Not
since
the
day
when
the
Duke
’
s
buyers
had
taken
her
from
the
school
had
she
felt
this
frightened
and
unsure
of
herself
.
The
head
and
the
picture
.
They
heightened
her
feelings
of
confusion
.
She
shuddered
,
glanced
at
the
slit
windows
high
overhead
.
It
was
still
early
afternoon
here
,
and
in
these
latitudes
the
sky
looked
black
and
cold
—
so
much
darker
than
the
warm
blue
of
Caladan
.
A
pang
of
homesickness
throbbed
through
her
.
So
far
away
,
Caladan
.
