Chapter 6
Unable to bear the tedium of the flight any longer, Saché jumped up from her seat. At the same instant, Darth Maul also leaped to his feet, hand poised near his lightsaber. Saché gave him a considering look. "Maul, you don't strike me as the nervous type. Get a grip and tell me where the bathroom is."
The Sith Lord recovered his composure and wordlessly jerked his head toward the rear of the ship. Saché was tempted to pinch his butt as she passed, but Maul was on guard and kept his back to the wall.
Saché made her way down a narrow corridor and found what she was really after--Maul's sleeping chamber. Appropriately for a ship like the Infiltrator, it was small, merely a place to catch a moment's rest on a long journey, but it would surely hold a few clues that would help Saché to interpret her fascinating captor. She noiselessly slipped the latch and entered. The tiny rectangular room contained a bunk, a cabinet and not much else. Either Maul preferred a monk-like austerity, or being a Sith paid even less well than Saché's job.
The gray metal walls were bare. The bunk was covered with a black blanket. Saché peeked beneath it. Black sheets--What else? No black jammies under the pillow, though. Did he sleep naked? Ugh! Don't start! she chided herself.
Saché opened the cabinet. Oh, this was better! A box of lightsaber parts and a book, The Time-Life Guide to Making and Repairing Your Lightsaber. Another box containing only books. Saché inspected the titles. Chicken Soup for the Sith Soul. Zen and the Art of Sith Speeder Maintenance. The Bantha Whisperer. The Bridges of Alderaan County. Hmmm, Maul apparently had an inexplicable taste for mawkish literature. She lifted her eyes from the books. A black robe hung on a hook next to a grayish rag. Saché pulled the rag down and stepped back into the light to examine it. It proved to be the remains of a T-shirt, probably once black (Duh!). Its faded lettering read, "Sith Lords Kick Ass." It probably held some sentimental value for Maul, since it had been carefully hung.
Saché returned the tattered scrap to its hook and turned her attention to the robe. It was a simple, elegant garment, identical to the one Maul now wore. Just a spare, then, Saché guessed. She stroked the fabric and found it surprisingly soft, suggesting that Sith did not deny themselves all comfort. Impulsively, she buried her nose in the robe and inhaled. Spice . . .wine, leather . . . and a hint of sweat. Gods! The smell of him made her knees weak. In a blissful fog, Saché removed her handmaidens' dress and slipped on Darth Maul's robe. Though miles too big across the shoulders and long enough in the arms to hide her fingertips, the length was near-perfect. Saché gave an astonished giggle. Why, he's barely taller than me! She wrapped the robe's wide sash around and around her waist, tied the ends in a neat knot and went in search of a mirror.