ID: 48
Thufir Hawat
Thufir Hawat
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From the Personal Notes of Piter de Vries Having a nemesis is an intimate relation. One must know their enemy, and forever reexamine what they know. What do I know? Thufir Hawat (100075 AG - sometime very soon AG) — the famed Master of Assassins, paragon of Mentats, coveted across the Imperium (by those content with the standard model). The primary adviser to Duke Leto during the transition of power to Arrakis. Yet, for all that, Hawat was unable to anticipate our plans to eliminate the Atreides, my masterstroke breaking of a Suk doctor’s Imperial conditioning. It was my sweet Lady Jessica who sussed that out. I know a thousand other things about Thufir Hawat. I calculate a third of those are nuggets of misinformation purposefully planted by Hawat. I offer him the same entertaining fictions. What I don’t know is how Hawat came to serve the Atreides dukes. He’s served the family for at least three generations. I have a story saying he was a prize given by some mysterious faction, another saying he has served the family for far longer, still another saying he was sent to assassinate a past duke and so impressed his target that they took him under their employ. I have many such stories. Which, if any, are true? And, if true, what does it teach me about my nemesis? From the Personal Notes of Thufir Hawat The War of Assassins is costly. Some costs can be calculated: wealth, resources, lives, assets, military equipment, etc. Some costs are more difficult to compute. The Atreides pay dearly, not only with their morality, but also their identity. The honor that shines bright on Caladan, rusts over when exposed to this protracted skulduggery. Even if they win, what will be left of them. I must advance things. I must employ moves on more distant game boards. What House Atreides needs, to survive and to win, is leverage. I must provide them with leverage that swings a fulcrum on an Imperial scale. There are hidden enterprises occurring on this planet — in the orbit of Count Fenring, in the mysteries of fallen Carthag, in the hushed cargo of certain crashed ships — which have the faintest scent of what I seek. I will root them out like a maddened hound. |
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