Maze of Deception
Page 6
But when he got there he stopped. One of the Gammorean guards glared down at him, grunting in a questioning tone. It held a tall spear, and waved it menacingly.
Its partner peered through its piggy little eyes at Boba, skeptical.
Boba bent his knees a little more. He tugged the folds of cloth around his head, praying his face didn’t show. He pointed toward the entrance, miming that he wanted to go inside.
Just then, one guard nudged the other, grunting and pointing behind Boba.
“Aarrrgh!” snarled the other guard. It gnashed its tusks angrily and stared where the other had indicated.
Boba wanted to turn and look behind him—but he didn’t dare. He stood, wondering if he should make a dash for the entrance.
Without warning, one of the Gammoreans swung his spear through the air high above Boba’s head. He gestured Boba inside.
Boba nodded eagerly. Gathering the folds of his cloak, he ducked his head, then walked as fast as he could through the krayt dragon’s mouth—and into the domain of the Hutts.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Inside the gambling palace, the noise was deafening. Laughter, angry shouts, howls of triumph and disappointment—all mingled with the jingle of coins, the rattle of dice, the clack of Kenoballs, the cries of card dealers and money changers. The Hutts’ gambling palace was yet another maze, all smoke-filled rooms and arcades, so crowded with gamblers that Boba could hardly squeeze through. Gamorrean boars lumbered around, keeping order and throwing out the most unruly customers. Boba saw the Jawas he’d seen outside, haggling with a Bimm over a game of Outlander. Boba wondered if it was a real Bimm or another shapeshifter.
“Watch the Podraces!” a voice shouted. Boba looked up and saw a huge screen. Podraces were being broadcast from Tatooine. “No bets refused!”
Boba fingered the card in his pocket. He was too smart to waste his money on betting. His father had warned him against gambling.
“A bounty hunter gambles with his life every day,” Jango always said. “Only a fool would gamble with money, too.”
Boba tugged his ragged hood closer around his face. He had only one aim now—to find some way back to the Upper Levels. To find some way of locating his treasure. To get back to Slave I and leave Aargau—without Aurra Sing.
He put his hand in his pocket and touched the book his father had left him.
For knowledge you must find Jabba.
Find Jabba. Boba had always assumed that to locate the notorious gangster, he would have to go to Jabba’s homeworld of Nal Hutta. Or to Tatooine, where the powerful clan leader had created a smuggling empire.
But what if Jabba were here, on Aargau? The Hutts were involved in every kind of illegal activity in the galaxy. Maybe Jabba was actually here, in the Undercity—in this very gambling palace!
But how to find him? Boba thought hard. He’d have to find the Twi’lek again—the one he thought might be the famous Bib Fortuna. He pulled the ragged cloak back a little from his eyes, straining to see through the dim, smoky room.
A deep voice snarled behind him. Boba looked up and saw one of the Gamorrean boars. A spear was raised threateningly in his huge hand. The message was clear. If you’re not spending money, get out of here!
Boba nodded apologetically. He started to turn away, when the guard suddenly grabbed his shoulder.
Ulp! If the guard pulled off his disguise, there’d be no Boba, either! Quickly he dug into his pocket and held up his card, careful to hold it in his sleeve, so his hand wouldn’t show. It flickered gold in the dim light.
The Gamorrean’s ugly pig face grew even uglier with disappointment. With a grunt the guard turned away and began to hassle someone else.
Whew, thought Boba. That was close. Got to be more careful!
He began edging through the crowd, looking for the Twi’lek. Once he thought he saw him, but it turned out to be a tall alien wearing a fur coat. Once he thought he heard a Wookiee’s deep, hooting voice. But it turned out to be a small armored droid, rolling through the crowd.
Boba watched it curiously. Then he looked around. There were a lot of droids here—more than he would have expected.
Why were they here?
As he looked around, he noticed that these weren’t protocol droids, or service droids. They weren’t servomechs, either.
They were sentry droids. And security droids, and powerful police droids. Boba felt the skin on his neck prickle. He glanced up, and saw a guard droid hovering on the other side of the room. It turned slowly in the air, its sensors scanning the den. Its three weaponry arms were poised to fire if necessary.
“What’s going on?” Boba whispered. Whatever it was, he didn’t like it or trust it—one bit.
As if in answer to his thoughts, two tall women in pilot uniforms passed him. They were talking in low voices. Boba pulled his ragged cloak around his face and turned away. But he was listening.
“Rumor is that Dooku sent him,” one of the pilots said quietly. “Raising more funds.”
“There aren’t enough credits in the galaxy to overthrow the Republic,” the other woman retorted. “Dooku is mad.”
“I assure you, that is the one thing he is not,” countered her friend. “And there may not be enough money in the galaxy to fund a rebellion—but there certainly is enough in the Hutts’ pockets!”
The women pilots laughed softly. They walked around a corner, out of Boba’s earshot.
Count Dooku! Could the sinister Count be here as well?
No—the pilot had said, Dooku sent him.
Who would the Count have sent?
Boba thought fast. And he remembered.
San Hill. The head of the InterGalactic Banking Clan, and one of the most powerful figures in the galaxy. But just a little while ago the Bothan spy had told Nuri that San Hill was here, in the Undercity—
San Hill was raising funds for the Separatists. Raising money for Count Dooku. And at the same time, the clone troopers were here as a security force of the Republic—clone troopers who had been bred at the command of Tyranus.
The two sides were set to oppose each other, Republic and Separatists. Clones and droids. But behind each side was the same person: the man Boba knew as the Count.
Count Tyranus.
Count Dooku.
It was all part of some terrible plot, Boba was sure of that. He was also sure that, if his father were still alive, he would find a way to make use of this information—especially with San Hill on the same planet.
Boba could make use of it, too. He just had to figure out how. Maybe the pilots would have more information. He turned and began to move stealthily after them, across the crowded floor.
But when Boba turned the corner, the pilots were gone. Instead, he found himself face-to-face with three tall, vicious figures. Armorlike scales covered their bodies, and their broad, lipless mouths were full of sharp teeth. Long tails protruded from beneath their tunics, lashing the air threateningly as they argued and laughed in deep, throaty voices.
Reptilian Barabels!
“Care to join us?” one hissed at Boba. They were in the middle of a game of three-handed solitaire. “The stakes are high, Jawa—your money, or your life!”
The Barabel jabbed at him with one long, pointed claw, and the others laughed.
Boba shook his head. He began to back away. But before he could, fast as lightning, the Barabel’s clawed hand grabbed him by the shoulder. Boba ducked, kicking out at the Barabel’s ankle. The tall reptile gave a shout of rage and pain. He snatched his hand back, his claws closing tightly around Boba’s ragged cloak. Boba dove for the floor. The cloak hung from the Barabel’s claws like a ribbon of gray mist.
“That’s no Jawa!” one of the other Barabels hissed.
That’s right, thought Boba grimly. He rolled across the floor, landed on his stomach, and immediately pulled himself under a table. Above him the Barabels stared at the ragged cloak. They all looked around, nostrils flaring as they peered in vain for Boba.
“Forget about him! Scavenging scum! Back to the game!”
Once again, the Barabels clustered together, jaws clacking as they looked hungrily over the cards in their hands.
Boba let out a sigh of relief. He was safe.
For the moment…
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
He rested for only a few minutes.
Now what? he thought. He no longer had his disguise. If he tried to move, he’d be spotted and thrown out of the gambling palace. Probably his card would be confiscated, too. Then he’d be on his own, with no money and no way out of the Undercity.
And that was the best that might happen.
The worst was that he’d be killed. Or captured by slavers.
Boba clenched his jaw grimly. That would never happen. He wouldn’t let it happen. A good bounty hunter never gets caught.
And he was going to be one of the best.
Still, he needed a plan. If he could find the Twi’lek—if the Twi’lek really was Bib Fortuna—it might lead him to Jabba the Hutt. If Jabba the Hutt was actually here—and if the gangster would help him get back up to Level Two.
That’s a lot of ifs, thought Boba.
He began to crawl toward the other side of the table. From down here, the Hutts’ gambling palace was a forest of legs. Boba scanned the room for a pair of legs that belonged to a Twi’lek. He didn’t see them—but he saw something else.
On the far side of the room, in a shadowy alcove, a familiar shadowy form stood, arms crossed. The figure was clad in a tight-fitting crimson suit. Its long legs were encased in high brown leather boots. A leather weapons vest covered its chest. Its skin glowed dead-white even in the darkness of the gambling den. A long topknot of brilliant red hair cascaded down its back. Blazing blue eyes scanned the room, missing nothing. Seeing everything.
Aurra Sing.
Boba’s heart raced. He had imagined things couldn’t get worse—but they just had. There was one thing worse than being captured or killed—and that was being captured or killed by the galaxy’s most vengeful bounty hunter. Aurra Sing would show no mercy. She wouldn’t care that he was a kid, or Jango Fett’s son. To her, he was a double-crosser. Someone who’d cheated her out of her share of the fortune—even if the fortune wasn’t rightly hers.
Well, this was no time to stop deceiving her. Boba watched as Aurra continued to scan the room. Abruptly, she spun on her heel and began walking—right toward where he crouched beneath the table.
Boba held his breath and froze. He watched as the supple brown boots strode past him—just inches from his nose. A few feet away they came to a stop. He heard the hiss of the Barabels whispering in their own language. Then he heard Aurra’s low, powerful voice.
“I’m looking for a boy,” she said. “About this tall. Brown hair, brown eyes. Wearing a blue tunic and black boots—though he might be in disguise. I wouldn’t put it past him,” she added grudgingly.
“We’ve seen no one,” a Barabel hissed. “Now leave us, unless you wish to join our—ach!”
Boba edged forward, just enough to peek out. One of Aurra Sing’s powerful hands was wrapped tightly around the Barabel’s throat. Her other hand held a dagger warningly before her.
“I’m not here to waste my time with filth like you,” she spat. “Answer! Have you seen a boy?”
“Yesssss,” hissed the Barabel. His clawed hand gestured wildly. “Minutes ago—right there—”
Boba sucked his breath in sharply. There was no time to lose. He turned and scrambled toward the back of the table. A wall was there—solid wood. Boba felt around on the floor, searching for a weapon—a stick, a brick, anything he might use to defend himself. His hand closed on something cold and hard. A heavy metal ring, bigger than his hand. He pulled at it as hard as he could. It weighed a ton, but he kept pulling, until at last it moved.
To his shock, the floor moved, too. Boba stared down in astonishment.
The ring was bolted to the floor. It was not a ring, but a handle. When he had tugged at it, he had lifted a panel off the floor.
It was a trapdoor.
“You better not be lying.” Aurra Sing’s harsh voice rang across the room from just meters away. “Otherwise I’ll carve new scales on your ugly faces.”
Boba heard footsteps—Aurra’s feet, heading toward the table. He pulled harder at the ring, trying to pry the entire panel up from the floor. The steps grew closer. The wood squeaked and grated as the panel edged up. The sound seemed deafening to Boba. Now the panel was a few centimeters above the floor. He slid his hands beneath, and with all his strength pushed it up, up, until there was a space large enough for him to squeeze through. He shoved his feet in, kicking wildly at open air.
What if there were no floor? What if the trapdoor opened onto—nothing?
“All right, kid—this is it!” Aurra’s gloating voice echoed from the room directly above him.
Boba took one last deep breath. He forced his legs through the trapdoor, then his chest and his shoulders. He slid down, his hands holding the wood panel above him. Beneath him he felt nothing, just raw empty space, black as the air above the Undercity. For an endless horrible moment he hung there, suspended between the floor above and nothing below. Then, with a gasp, he tugged the floor board back into place. It shut without a sound. His fingers slipped from the bare wood. His arms flailed at the air. And without a sound, Boba fell.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
It seemed he fell forever in that close, hot darkness. In reality, it was just seconds.
“Ow.” With a dull thud, he hit the ground. For a moment he lay there, catching his breath. He stared up. Perhaps three meters above him, he could just make out a black square bounded by four thin, weakly shining lines.
The trapdoor.
Would Aurra notice it? Boba wasn’t going to wait and find out. Very carefully he stood, blinking as his eyes tried to adjust to the darkness. From overhead he could hear the sounds of the Hutts’ den, somewhat muffled now. As his eyes grew accustomed to the dark, he found that he could see a little bit. The faint light from around the trapdoor showed him that he was in a tunnel. It stretched before him and behind him. He turned and peered into the blackness.
Which way should he go?
Above him he heard the scrape of booted feet upon the floor.
Aurra.
Boba chose to go forward—and fast. As quickly and carefully as he dared, he walked, his hands held before him. Now and then he shuddered as something dank and stringy touched his face or hands.
Cobwebs—at least, he hoped they were just cobwebs. Sometimes he thought he heard something skittering underfoot, a dry, rasping sound as of many tiny legs. And after several minutes of feeling his way through the dark, he heard something else as well.
Voices.
They came from somewhere ahead of him. Boba noticed that the tunnel seemed to be growing lighter. Instead of blackness, he was now surrounded by dark gray, like smoke. And now he could see that there were other tunnels branching off from this one. All stretched off into utter blackness. From some of them faint scurrying and chittering sounds echoed.
Boba shivered. If he had taken one of those paths by mistake, he might have wandered down here forever. He didn’t want to think about what might live in them. And behind him he heard no footsteps following. There was no sign that Aurra Sing had come after him. He had managed to escape her again.
Maybe his luck was holding out, after all.
The light came from straight ahead, directly in front of him. Boba hurried toward it. He was so intent on getting there that he did not hear the soft clatter of many tiny feet in the tunnel behind him.
Just a few feet before him the passage abruptly ended. A pale square of light glowed on the floor. Boba looked dow
n, and saw a small grille set into the ground at his feet. Through it he could make out dim shapes in a room below him.
“You are certain we are safe here?” a voice asked in the room below.
“Absolutely,” a very deep, slow voice responded. It laughed, a horrible, hollow sound. “Hoh, hoh! My uncle himself has seen that this place is secure. No one can get here without our knowledge.”
Boba’s eyes widened. He was gazing into a secret chamber! The grille must have been put there to aid in spying. Boba slowly lowered himself, until he was kneeling and peering over the very edge of the grille. He was careful to stay back, in case someone happened to look up at the ceiling.
“That is good,” the first voice said. Boba blinked. After the darkness of the long tunnel, it was hard to get used to the light again. But after a few seconds he could see more clearly.
And what he saw made his breath catch in surprise.
In the room below, a tall, skeletally thin figure sat in a large chair. To either side of him, armed guards stood. They were not clone guards, or droids, either. These were muscular humanoid figures, in drab gray uniforms with blasters slung at their sides. The figure they guarded was San Hill.
“It is in your uncle’s interest to support our cause,” said the head of the Banking Clan. “Count Dooku has assured me of that.”
Boba had to squint to get a good look at the other figure in the room. It was big—huge in fact. A vast, mounded, sluglike body, reclining upon an even vaster chair like a throne. It had tiny, weak-looking arms and a long, fat tail. Layers of fat cascaded beneath its wide, froglike mouth. It was surrounded by guards as well. Boba swallowed nervously.
Was this Jabba the Hutt? If so, he was even more disgusting than his father had described him as being.
The sluglike creature shook its head. “My uncle will make up his own mind,” he said in his booming voice. “He will not be hurried, even by Count Dooku.”
“Why is your uncle not here?” asked San Hill in a soothing but irritated tone. He looked angry and impatient. “I wish to do business with Jabba himself, not some underling!”