‘How long will he remain drugged like this? the Baron asked.
‘Perhaps another hour, m’lord.’
‘Perhaps,’ the Baron muttered. Again, he turned to the night blackened window. ‘I am hungry.’
That’s the Baron, that fuzzy shape there, Leto thought.

The shape danced back and forth, swaying with the movement of the room. And the room expanded and contracted. It grew brighter and darker. It folded into blackness and faded. Time became a sequence of layers for the Duke. He drifted up through them.
I must wait.

There was a table. Leto saw the table quite clearly. And a gross fat man on the other side of the table, the remains of a meal in front of him. Leto felt himself sitting in a chair across from the fat man, felt the chains, the straps that held his tingling body in the chair.