He knew what this corridor was supposed to represent. It did have some characteristics of an ancient Fremen sietch. The corridor was wide, big enough to take Leto on his cart. The arched ceiling looked like rock. But the twin glowstrips were discord. Idaho had never seen glowstrips before coming to the Citadel; they had been considered impractical in his day, requiring too much energy, too costly to maintain. Glowglobes were simpler and easily replaced. He had come to realize, however, that Leto considered few things impractical.

What Leto wants, someone provides.

The thought had an ominous feeling as Idaho marched down the corridor toward Moneo.

Small rooms lined the corridor sietch-fashion, no doors, only thin hangings of russet fabric which swayed in the breeze. Idaho knew that this area was mostly quarters for the younger Fish Speakers. He had recognized an assembly chamber with attendant rooms for weapons storage, kitchen, a dining hall, maintenance shops. He had also seen other things behind the inadequate privacy of the hangings, things which fed his rage.

Moneo turned at Idaho’s approach. The woman to whom Moneo had been talking retreated and let the hanging drop, but not before Idaho glimpsed an older face with an air of command about it. Idaho did not recognize that particular commander.

Moneo nodded as Idaho stopped two paces away.

“The guards say you’ve been looking for me,” Moneo said.

“Where is he, Moneo?”

“Where is who?”

Moneo swept his gaze up and down Idaho’s figure, noting the old-fashioned Atreides uniform, black with a red hawk at the breast, the high boots glistening with polish. There was a ritual look about the man.

Idaho took a shallow breath and spoke through clenched teeth: “Don’t you start that game with me!”

Moneo took his attention away from the sheathed knife at Idaho’s waist. It looked like a museum piece with its jewelled handle. Where had Idaho found it?

“If you mean the God Emperor…” Moneo said.

“Where?”

Moneo kept his voice mild. “Why are you so anxious to die?”

“They said you were with him.”

“That was earlier.”

“I’ll find him, Moneo!”

“Not right now.”

Idaho put a hand on his knife. “Do I have to use force to make you talk?”

“I would not advise that.”

“Where… is… he?”

“Since you insist, he is out in the desert with Siona.”

“With your daughter?”

“Is there another Siona?”

“What’re they doing?”

“She is being tested.”

“When will they return?”

Moneo shrugged, then: “Why this unseemly anger, Duncan?”

“What’s this test of your…”

“I don’t know. Now, why are you so upset?”

“I’m sick of this place! Fish Speakers!” He turned his head and spat.

Moneo glanced down the corridor behind Idaho, recalling the man’s approach. Knowing the Duncans, it was easy to recognize what had fed his current rage.

“Duncan,” Moneo said, “it’s perfectly normal for adolescent females as well as males to have feelings of physical attraction toward members of their own sex. Most of them will grow out of it.”