Desperate Measures/Part 5

''DONG. DONG. DONG.''

The clamor of the tolling bell echoed down the tower, through treasure vaults and torture chambers, to the meeting room at its base. Rain splattered off the weathered black stone window sills, two dozen encircling the room like arrow slits. Dark shapes flashed past outside, shrieking to the winds while, above, a high voice called after them, "Fly, my uglies! Fly!  FLY!"

Maalt Eilan watched them for a moment from one thin window, then turned back to the room and his five companions. The Nikto looked at each of them in turn before fixing his eyes on Xargo Dejuth. "The master wants his Jedi, Xargo. He's most displeased."

"Then why have you called me off the hunt?" the Tunroth demanded; he had such a tight grip on his bow that Maalt was surprised it didn't snap in two. "My quarry sense will lead me right to them!"

Before Maalt could reply, a door opened to one side of the tower room and a gargantuan Ugnaught ducked under the threshold—so tall even Mur Drok, the Hiitian in the room, was diminished in comparison. The Ugnaught's dark, recessed eyes searched the room before they found Maalt. "I finish the bell."

"Yes, I see that," Maalt replied; he noticed, in retrospect, the last echoes dying away. "Now go feed Cuddles."

The Ugnaught peered at him. "Master says?"

"Yes," Maalt answered patiently. "The master says go feed Cuddles."

The Ugnaught continued to stare for a moment, then nodded the squat head that seemed to have been deposited squarely on his boulder-sized shoulders. "I go feed Cuddles."

Maalt watched him lumber off, sighed in a resigned way, and turned back to his fellows. "As I was saying, our lord is most intent that our two guests stay—"

"Who are you to tell us this?" Xargo demanded. "Where is the master?"

Maalt looked back coldly. "The master wishes to retire to his sanctum for contemplation; after that, I'm given to understand that he plans to work on a new design. He doesn't wish for you to disturb him."

Xargo traded looks with Sanno Casa, the Faust Acolyte at his side who seemed a mere slip of a being in comparison to the larger Sith all around him—not only Xargo and Mur Drok, but towering Lygrot the Stenax as well, whose horned and spiked face and broad wingspan made him even more intimidating. Even Maalt and the sixth man in the room were broader. None of them, however, could surpass Sanno Casa in cold cunning, and it was the calculated look he returned to Xargo that was of greater concern. It almost amounted to open defiance.

Almost, but not quite. "They surely can't be allowed to roam free," the Faust mused, brushing his narrow chin with his fingertips. "Five Sith Acolytes…to which of us has the master given the task?"

"None," Maalt reported. "Xargo and Mur are to oversee the cargo delivery. Lygrot, remain here; make sure the master's door wardens don't stray too far.  A little terror in Bitter End never goes amiss, but we don't want any escapees."

Lygrot flexed his wings, measuring Maalt with a gaze before nodding. "As you say."

"And Sanno, our lord bids you ensure none of the experiments have been damaged by our two wayward Jedi. Once that's done, he gives you leave to repair the damage done to your garden."

"Our lord is most gracious," Sanno said unctuously. "The arms were quite agitated, and their burns will take mending. But what of you, friend?  What task has been laid upon your shoulders?"

"The master commands me to attend him when he's finished his meditations," Maalt answered with satisfaction. "We'll be working on his new design."

Their reactions ranged from tightened eyes to bared teeth, but every expression of jealousy on their faces satisfied him; he felt their envy and anger in the Force and it empowered him.

Mur Drok looked at the others, then snapped his beak. "Why you?"

Because I am the Senior Acolyte Maalt wanted to reply, but their lord had not yet gotten around to formalizing that designation. Because I shall be anointed long before any of you he could have said too, but that would result in so much needless squabbling. "Because our master commands it to be so. If you question his wisdom, see if you can't catch up with Ugor; I imagine Cuddles is hungry."

Mur Drok snapped his beak again, but added nothing else. Maalt swept the room with a gaze, then said, "If there's nothing more…"

"Forgive me, friend," Sanno said, "but you continue to neglect the Jedi. Or are we to trust the Ugnaughts to round them up?"

There was a ripple of laughter from the others, and Maalt contained his own fury, forcing a smile back. "I'm indebted to you for the reminder, friend. No, our lord thought it best to leave that to our comrade here." He turned to the sixth man in the room. "Something about the appeal of irony, I believe."

The laughter this time was more appreciative, and Maalt's smile relaxed into genuineness. The man he had singled out did not smile back, but returned Maalt's gaze with his mismatched eyes and fingered the lightsaber on his belt. "What does he wish me to do?"

"Bring the Jedi back," Maalt commanded. "Alive, of course, and in functional condition. Then again, judging by recent history, we can't be certain they won't try to escape—and depending on their jailer at the time, succeed—so a limb here or there won't matter too greatly, if you feel it necessary."

Maalt felt Xargo's annoyance at the jab, but allowed himself only peripheral enjoyment; it was vital that the experiment understand the mission. But the man nodded, sweeping his hair out of his eyes with the claws of one hand. "It will be done."

Maalt nodded, folded his hands, and simply watched until the man left. The other Acolytes drifted out one by one as the Palace of Happiness echoed with the groaning pipe sounds of the nalargon—the master immersed in his contemplations.