K'gworth balled his hands into fists. The dining room was, to put it bluntly, a disaster.
"You!" He whirled around and pointed at Looma, standing behind him. "It is all your fault!"
Looma threw up his hands. "My fault? I beg to disagree. I did not throw the plates on the ground or overturn the table."
"You! You, you, you….Gaullian!" K'gworth sputtered. Then he stopped. His head was growing dangerously hot. If he wasn't careful, he would blow his top and then there would be two of them out of commission. He quickly ran a biofeedback exercise designed to calm his inner workings. "You," he said in a softer voice, "did not roust our guest for dinner. And now look what happened!"
Looma shrugged. "'umans, they need to sleep, no? And they need to eat. There will be another dinner."
K'gworth swept his gaze around the destroyed room once more. "I thought the boy was a bad idea. After that idiot Gaston, why risk another horrible incident?"
Looma opened his mouth to speak, an indignant look on his face.
K'gworth cut him off with a shake of his head. "But you were right to try. It's getting worse," he said quietly. "Soon there will be no humanity left in the Mistress."
Looma's shoulders fell, and his expression lost its usual good humor. "I know, mon ami. I know."
They stood together for a moment in silence, K'gworth aware that Looma's thoughts were as darkly anxious as his own.
But they weren't devoid of all hope yet. Time to dwell on the dreary future when – if – it arrived. K'gworth clapped his hands together. "All right then, no need to borrow more trouble than we need to right this very minute. Get the mop and pail."
"Mop and pail? Moi? I beg to differ." Looma crossed his arms and looked down on K'gworth from his considerably taller height.
"Well, Pottz ain't about to do it. Get moving!" K'gworth made a shooing motion.
"So activate a White Walker!" Looma exclaimed. "They 'ave nothing better to do!"
"I don't want to hear any more lip out of you," K'gworth said. "Or shall I inform the Mistress that you are refusing your duties?"
Looma's golden skin took on a sickly pallor. "Now, now, no need to be so 'asty."
K'gworth decided to take pity. "Oh, fine, I'll get the mop and pail. Perhaps you'd be more comfortable with the feather duster?"
The sudden grin that lit Looma's face made K'gworth smile. But only for the moment.
Luke coughed and held back a sneeze. The dust was everywhere. It settled in his nose and his throat and his lungs. The rest of the castle was in impeccable shape, but it was obvious no one used the North Tower stairs.
Well, no one but the Beast. He could feel the dark side here, pressing at him, seeking to invade and destroy his inner peace. He took a deep, steadying breath to center himself – and almost choked on the grit in the air.
The tower went up and up, the stairs a dizzying spiral that looped higher and higher. Every so often, a small window would allow moonlight in, giving Luke enough illumination with which to navigate. Still, he was thankful he had the Force as a sixth sense to help guide his feet on the worn, narrow steps.
Just as his legs began to protest they could climb no more, he spotted an old, wooden door on the landing above him. It stood halfway open, a cold, flicking blue light spilling from it.
Moving as silently as he could, hiding his presence in the Force as Master Yoda had taught him, Luke crept up the remaining flight and behind the door. Hidden by its width, he slowly peeked around the edge.
At first, he couldn't quite believe his eyes. This was how the Beast lived? When there was a castle of unimaginable luxury below this tower, just there begging to be inhabited?
A pallet for a bed, scarcely more than a half-stuffed straw mattress placed on hard, unyielding floor. The Beast's cloak hung on a hook on the wall next to it. No other decoration – not even a chair, or a mirror, or a painting to break up the monotony.
He recognized the deep score marks on the walls, dozens and dozens of them, as the work of a lightsaber blade. It looked as if the Beast tried to duel with the very stones and lost, every time. No wonder, he thought to himself, that the castle had been built with some sort of lightsaber-resistant material. If it hadn't, this tower room would have soon crumbled thanks to all those cuts.
At one time the room had window hangings, but they were in tatters. Again, no doubt thanks to a lightsaber. He could just see, across the room, an open door that seemed to lead to a balcony, if the night stars he spotted was any indication.
He swept his gaze to the left. There was the source of the sickly blue glow that threw a deathly pallor over the room. A state of the art communications array. It looked much more advanced than the one they'd had on Hoth, and he knew that Mon Motha had been very, very proud of it.
Of the Beast, there was no sign.
Nor did he spot his own lightsaber. Not that he expected to find it just laying around, of course.
He stepped into the room—
-and his blood froze, then boiled.
A foot, there, in the shadow. A small, pale foot. Clad in a slipper of purple and pink.
And another foot. Also clad in purple and pink. But lying at an impossible angle to its mate.
Pottz.
The Beast killed Pottz.
Why? Just for helping him and his friends escape? But the Beast still had him! Made a deal for him! Why did she need to punish Pottz?
Give into anger feel the aggression let the hate flow
Bile rose in his throat. He took a step forward. He could end this, right now. Find the Beast. And take the Beast's life as ruthlessly and in as much as cold blood as the Beast apparently took Pottz's. Rip out the Beast's heart. Watch the light fade from those feral yellow eyes.
Give into anger feel the aggression let the hate flow
No. He stopped, shook his head to clear it. With a concentrated effort, he forced out the whispers seeking to occupy his mind.
He had to get out of here. He would bring the Beast to justice. But not by himself.
He'd go to Woolvertown, alert the local law enforcement. Surely there were some decent people in that little town who would care about the senseless death of an innocent.
He ran down the North Tower stairs, though the main floor of the castle, and out the main door. Promise or no promise, he could no longer stay there.