In Love and War - Part Three

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Obi-Wan ruffled his fur as he proceeded to munch down on his breakfast, which consisted of a number of beetles, bugs and grubs. Obi-Wan, the former Jedi, tilted his head as he watched the voorpak eat. Ben had warned him Onara hated to watch the voorpak eat, and Obi-Wan could see why. It was rather disgusting. He glanced over at Jiah, the buxom, gray-haired head cook who was eyeing him and the voorpak.

He was in the manor's huge kitchen. Two weeks ago, when Obi-Wan had realized he needed to feed the voorpak, Simtro had told him that Jiah, in addition to being head cook, also tended the large gardens behind the manor, where not only flowers were grown but the vegetables she used in her meals. If anyone could get her hands on bugs and such for the voorpak, it would be her.

And Jiah had been true to her reputation. Every morning Obi-Wan had come down to the kitchen and Jiah would have, sitting on the counter, a small basket full of bugs and grubs she had harvested out of her gardens. It had become something of a morning ritual for the two. Obi-Wan would greet her good morning. Jiah would nod, then gesture toward the basket full of grubs. Obi-Wan would pick up the basket, sit at the huge wooden table in the center of the kitchen and feed the voorpak.

Jiah would then put a plateful of food in front of him. Obi-Wan would thank her for it, but only pick at the food. Jiah would frown at him for not eating, but Obi-Wan would pretend not to notice. Once the voorpak was done eating, Jiah would show Obi-Wan the menu she had planned for the day, he would tell her everything she wanted to prepare was fine, wish her a good day and, slipping the voorpak into the pocket of his tunic, leave the kitchen.

This morning, a late spring morning which had dawned so bright and beautiful as Obi-Wan had stared out the windows of Onara's chamber it had nearly broken his heart, had begun no differently then any of the other mornings of the past two weeks. Well, that wasn't quite true, Obi-Wan thought as he rubbed his bare chin and jaw.

While performing his morning toiletry, he had, on the spur of the moment, decided to shave off his beard. He had grown the beard several years ago, hoping it would make him look older, for he'd always looked younger than his actual age. Why he had decided to shave it off today, however, he couldn't exactly say.

Jiah, upon seeing him beardless, had given him a quick double take, then a soft, knowing smile. But, other than that, this morning was proceeding as it had these past couple of weeks. The voorpak was munching happily on his bugs, Jiah had, as was her wont, tried to get Obi-Wan to eat, and he, as was his habit, had thanked her but, again, only picked at his food. However, their morning ritual was shattered by the appearance of Zaka in the kitchen.

Jiah, like most of the servants, had initially found Zaka's appearance quite fearsome. The Whiphid was nearly two meters tall, heavily built, with a long hairless face from which two large tusks protruded. He had massive arms and three-fingered hands with razor-sharp claws. All he wore was a kind of loin cloth around his waist, but his feet were bare and his claws clicked on the parquet floor.

But, over time, the servants had discovered Zaka was quite placid and even- tempered, and that, if there was anyone they should fear it was Auna, for the Codru-Ji woman had a quick, fiery temper, and was not at all reticent in giving anyone who irritated her a fierce tongue lashing.

Jiah eyed Zaka as he shuffled over to the table where Obi-Wan was sitting. She had learned the Whiphid ate only meat and preferred it to be as raw as possible. She gave him a platter of freshly killed zalot as he passed by. Zaka thanked her, then shambled over to the table and sat down.

"You're up early, Zaka," Obi-Wan remarked, watching as the Whiphid tore into the meat with relish.

"Hard for Zaka to sleep this morning."

"Bad dreams?"

Zaka shook his head, and Obi-Wan was surprised to see his long black eyes darting back and forth. "Not bad dreams. No, not that." Then, before Obi- Wan could question him further, Zaka lowered his big head and peered down at the voorpak.

"Little ball of fur eat lots."

Obi-Wan nodded, gazing fondly at the voorpak. He had adopted Ben's pet, having found some comfort in it. When it wasn't sleeping, which was most of the time, or wasn't in his pocket, it usually sat on the huge bloodwood desk in what used to be Dalan's study and trilled softly at him as he helped Simtro oversee Onara's affairs. The extent of her wealth, as a result of her inheritance of both her father's and Dalan's provinces, and the successes of Dalan's business ventures, was enormous.

Obi-Wan had no experience whatsoever with business or commerce, but he did have a level head and he was able, he hoped, to help Simtro make the decisions that not only kept the manor and its staff running smoothly, but Onara's affairs as well. Once she recovered, she might desire to marry again. Obi-Wan wanted to be sure she had a solid foundation upon which to build such a marriage.

In addition, there had been the stream of condolences that had come to the manor, expressing sorrow over the deaths of Ben, Dalan and Onara's condition. Obi-Wan, not knowing any of those who had sent the notes and flowers, had left all that to Simtro to deal with. As for the Ahjane Assembly's desire to present him with a medal, Obi-Wan had instructed Simtro to politely, but firmly, tell the Assembly he did not want it.

Even if he had killed Lursan, Obi-Wan would not have wanted to be honored for it. During his years as a Jedi he had killed, but there had never been, as far as he was concerned, any honor or glory in it, no matter how much the person he had killed may have deserved it. A life was a life. Even a life as despicable as Lursan's had been.

Obi-Wan the voorpak was done with his meal, as was Zaka. The Whiphid wiped his mouth with his large, furry hand, smacking his long, thin lips appreciatively. Jiah walked over and took away his empty platter, but when she saw Obi-Wan had not eaten, she shook her head.

"Now, Master Kenobi, you ought not to be doing this. You must eat. You've lost at least a stone since you arrived. Hasn't he, Zaka?" she added, looking over at the Whiphid and trying to draw him in as an ally. Zaka nodded his large tusked head in agreement.

Obi-Wan smiled. "I'm not hungry, Jiah. Really, I'm not. But, thank you."

Jiah sighed heavily and, turning, took Obi-Wan's still full plate and Zaka's empty platter away.

"Where's Auna?" Obi-Wan asked as he reached over and stroked the voorpak's soft fur. It blinked its large black eyes up at him and started trilling.

"Auna?" Zaka shifted his big body nervously in his seat, suddenly preoccupied with looking at everything in the kitchen, from the two huge stoves, the rows and rows of gleaming copper pots and pans, the shelves bulging with spices and boxes of foodstuff, the large baskets full of vegetables. "Auna not here," he finally said.

"I can see she's not here, Zaka. Where is she?"

Zaka looked beseechingly over at Obi-Wan. "Zaka tell Auna not to do it. Tell her Je-di will not like it. But Auna never listen to poor Zaka." The Whiphid sorrowfully shook his head. "No, she never listen to him."

"Tell Auna not to do what?" Obi-Wan asked.

But, before Zaka could reply, Obi-Wan heard a scream. Jiah, who had been chopping vegetables, nearly sliced her finger open at the sound. Zaka's eyes, which were partially hidden by the epicanthic folds surrounding them, widened. And Obi-Wan, realizing it was Onara screaming, leapt from the table and ran out of the kitchen.

To be continued....