Chapter Twelve:
Where Chocolate Plays an Important Role
The whole world seemed to be somewhat off. Her master and his betters would decorate themselves in the trappings of their rank—ceremonial weapons that were impractical, but eye-catching; armour that was flimsy but created by the finest artists: massive buildings with reliefs that spanned for tens of meters; triumphant statues that towered over cities, so that no one would dare to forget who was on the top. Vev could list examples one after another.
The creature that was supposed to be the Master of the Temple of Martial Arts had received her in a room that was bereft of such displays of rank. She had noted weapons on one of the wall—most of them broken—probably trophies. Then, on the wall behind him, there was a number of pictures all drawn in an unsteady hand, showing either stick figures or what Vev tentatively decided to label as landscapes. Otherwise, the room was austere—the furniture was sparse and wooden, the walls white...
Vev adjusted the sleeves of a borrowed shirt—it was slightly too big, and the collar kept sliding sideways.
"I trust the food was to your liking?" the Master of the Temple asked. His forehead sloped downwards, easing directly into a broad nose with four nostrils that dominated his whole lined face. White hair framed it all, flaring outwards like a mane.
Vev nodded. It was much better than what her own master would feed her, unless he was feeling extremely generous or wanted to show off that he could waste money on a slave.
"Good. Let us move on to business than." The Master of the Temple sat down and motioned for her to do likewise with his lower left arm. He had four of those, which probably would make fighting him complicated. Vev hesitated—she would be sitting with her back to the door and- No. She was free and that meant she could sit down when she damn well pleased. "What information can you give us?"
"If I don't report—and I can't do that, because that would require leaving my ship intact, and if you destroy it soon, then he might not be able to followthe tracking device to its source—anyway, if I don't report, my master will assume that this place is extremely dangerous and bring most of his forces—he will leave some behind to keep his... um... buildings and possessions and things secure. That's going to be mostly Flesh Raider troops—they're kind of dumb and Force-blind, but pretty vicious, and slave troops—those are usually mixed and used for things that require more brains than pointing a blaster and shooting."
Vev paused to take a breath and wondered if she had told him enough to make him trust her intentions.
"What about if you feigned death while sending a message? Inform your master that the world holds nothing of interest for him—only dangers," Lha-Mi asked, lacing his fingers underneath his chin and resting his elbows on his knees.
"I... don't know," Vev replied truthfully. It was just something—well, if it had happened either no one knew, or no one told her in case she might get ideas. "They might still come, in hopes of finding Force-creating minerals or whatever. Um. Your world is kind of very visible in the Force. You'd have to make it sound like a death-trap with no resources, I guess?"
"Is that why your empire is planning to invade us? Resources?" Lha-Mi asked.
"That and they're worried you might be or might become dangerous if left alone," Vev said. "But mostly, they want fuel for the Star Forge."
"What is the Star Forge?" Lha-Mi asked, leaning forward. Vev tried not to flinch back, and thought she managed to reign the instinctive reaction. He was still at a safe distance, she had no reason to expect him to attack.
"I don't know exactly—I can repeat what I heard: it's the glory of the Rakata, the apex of the Infinite Empire," she said. It had been one of the rare lessons that she had learned by heart before her mother had given her as a tribute to their masters. "It's a machine of invincible might, a tool of unstoppable conquest."
That was definitely too little, but she really had no other ideas of what it might be. Well, probably not an actual forge where they made stars.
"Um, I'm pretty sure the name is mostly supposed to be impressive," she added, just in case. "And can't create actual stars."
"That is reassuring," Lha-Mi said in a tone that Vev thought was meant to be joking. "I wouldn't trust your empire with that kind of responsibility."
It was actually pretty funny. Vev tried to stop herself from laughing—but once the first giggle broke past her lips, she couldn't stop. Something warm and wet dripped down her cheek, and fell on her hands.
But she wasn't crying. She hadn't cried since she was a little girl.
Out of the things that Daegen had expected he'd need to teach to his apprentice, cooking had not been anywhere on the list. Though only barely, Xesh was an adult. That, at least to Daegen, had always meant that one was at least capable of making soup and noodles.
Well. Xesh knew how to feed himself, that much was true. But apparently, that meant something very different for him, than it had meant for Daegen—making actually tasty food seemed to be something akin to magic performed by a specialized priest caste. In the absence of anyone capable of preparing proper food, Xesh would just eat anything with some nutritional value that would not poison him.
Really, he was doing everyone a favour, because effigies to people who knew how to season their food would be an embarrassing development.
Reasoning that Xesh was easily bribed by chocolate and that once upon a time he had made chocolate cake, Daegen decided it would be the perfect thing for a first lesson. (Also, it contained alcohol, and he really needed a drink after explaining why cannibalism, and eating brains, were both very bad ideas.)
It turned out not to be that great.
"Are you tasting the batter again?" he asked, as he eyed the growing pile of dirty dishes with some trepidation. Had he actually ever turned the dishwasher back on? Because there was no way he was washing all of this.
"I did it once," Xesh replied, putting the spoon and the bowl away. A bit of batter slid down on the table—a nearly invisible blemish on the dark surface. "The three other times don't count, because I needed to know if I added everything."
"You were the one adding all the ingredients," Deagen groaned. More cleaning. At least he'd been smart enough to choose furniture which was easy to clean, back when he'd been furnishing the kitchen. "How exactly do you expect not to know what you put into it?"
Xesh did not dignify him with an answer and made a show of checking the recipe instead. As it turned out, it still meant he'd have to acknowledge that Daegen was still there, since the batter was ready.
And mostly uneaten, despite Xesh's efforts.
"How do I set the temperature?" he asked, eyeing the oven suspiciously.
"See the pad?" Daegen said, indicating the dark screen just over the oven. "Just tap it, and then choose the temperature you want." And then, because he was supposed to be still making sure the boy was training he added, "And you can practice meditating while we wait."
Daegen's kitchen no longer looked unused. They had cleaned up most of the mess—Xesh still was still a bit unclear how the flour ended up on one of the chairs, but it no longer smelled of cleaning products. Instead, it smelled like the cake. Which was concave in the middle. Apparently, that was something that would require improvement. Xesh was not entirely sure why, since it tasted of chocolate like it was supposed to.
"If it's such a big deal why not put something over it?" he asked and watched Daegen try to make both an impressed and unimpressed expression at the same time.
"That's what one usually does," he said, once he decided he wanted to look unimpressed.
Which obviously meant that cakes collapsing in the middle was something that happened not just to Xesh. And since Daegen was so very interested in having Xesh figure out as much as he could on his own, he pointed that out. "So, what do I put there?"
"A kind of cream, I suppose," Daegen said with a shrug. "But since you already ate some, I think you will have to wait a while to learn about decorating cakes."
The older man seemed quite relieved about it, but Xesh was in a very good mood—and he did just learn how to make nice food from Daegen—so he decided not to ask him if this was because Daegen had to learn how to do it himself first.
His magnanimity was rewarded in a typical way: by irritating comments.
"Ten minutes," Daegen announced leaning a bit further in his chair. It creaked and then bumped softly against the wall.
"Of what?" Xesh asked, puzzled. They'd finished everything, so it wasn't like he had to time anything, was it? He looked around just in case, but nothing new had materialized in the kitchen—the cupboards were still dark brown-red and glossy, the tiles on the walls remained off-white and so did the floor.
"Of you not frowning," Daegen answered, once Xesh looked at him again. "And now you're doing it again."
As if the reason weren't obvious. "I probably wouldn't have started if you hadn't mentioned it." And then it hit him. It was just something he absolutely couldn't pass on. Xesh leaned back and continued. "So, if you want me not to frown so much, don't mention it."
"And here I was worried your forehead might slide off if you don't exercise it," Daegen replied dryly.
"At least I don't need to hide half of my face under hair," Xesh said. That one sort of occurred to him on its own.
Daegen gave him a rather sour look then. "Please, don't pay me so many compliments, or I will start thinking you actually like me."
He could have said something about that never happening, but he didn't. He hadn't thought about earlier at all—what with Daegen's natural state being "nuisance"-but he actually did like him. And not just because of the chocolate. It seemed to have happened somehow without any warning, quietly in the back of his head.
"But I do like you," he said without really thinking.
Daegen gave him a surprised look—he really hadn't expected anything of that sort, it seemed. Which was odd—why else would Xesh trust him enough to bicker with him all the time? He also seemed to have trouble coming up with an appropriate answer for a longer moment.
Had he actually found a way of shutting him up for good? It seemed to be too good to be true—and a moment later, it turned out that it was not true at all. Daegen was still impossible to silence.
"Well, at least you're starting to show some good taste."
Vev returned to Lha-Mi's office from the bathroom that was adjacent to the office having washed her face, feeling as out of place as the first time. This time, though, they have moved to a sturdy table made of pale wood. There was a tea pot, plates with pieces of dried fruit and other treats and two cups. It seemed like someone else would be coming then—either after Lha-Mi questioned her or to be present during questioning.
"Please sit down," the Master of the Temple said and Vev complied after a moment of confusion. "Tea?"
It was really a bit surreal. Someone was offering her tea. Acting like… she wasn't just furniture.
"Um, yes," she said, and glanced at the cup. It was pretty plain: white with a small blue geometric pattern around the rim, made of something thin and glossy. The Temple Master poured the tea into it—it was different from what she had expected; a kind of deep amber red-brown instead of red with a pinkish tinge, and smelled differently. Nice, though.
"We still have questions," he said, when Vev took her first sip. It was kind of bitter, mostly.
"Of course," she said with a nod. They hardly got anywhere before. "What do you want to know?"
She tried to keep herself from glancing at the food, but it was kind of hard with it sitting just in front of her, in arm's reach.
"How many Rakata are Force Sensitive?" Lha-Mi asked.
Vev frowned slightly. "All the high-ranking ones. You get some in the lower ranks too, although they tend not to survive that long. They tend to make mistakes that end with them dead and eaten." She paused, and for completeness sake, added, "Sometimes, they make the mistake after they are dead, but it's always very well documented."
"Speaking of killing," Lha-Mi said, his presence flickering with discomfort for a moment. Vev wasn't sure why—wasn't he a warrior? Surely, killing was part of what he did. "How does one kill them?"
"Uh... The usual way?" Vev said after a moment. "You can just shoot them, or burn them or bomb them. They die."
"And yet, you have not tried killing any of them, have you?" Lha-Mi asked, giving her a penetrating look. She did not like the scrutiny.
She also did not particularly like where this was leading her. "No. I... didn't really- I hadn't thought about it- until... um... until I thought I could run away."
Lha-Mi nodded, and indicated the plates. "Please, eat."
Vev gave him an uncertain look, but... well, of course, it made sense for him to want to give her nice food. She was one of the two sources of information they had, and she had belonged to someone of higher rank, so she knew more than Xesh.
She reached out and grabbed a fistful from the nearest plate. It was fruit, dried and slightly sticky, and couldn't fit it all into her mouth all in one bite. Two had been enough, though.
Lha-Mi waited until she stopped chewing and asked the next question, just as she was reaching out for more. "And do the Rakata have any specific ways of subduing a trained Force-sensitive?"
Vev shrugged. "Well, what works best is just overwhelming them. You might be able to sense all the attacks coming, but throw enough bodies and you won't be able to stop all of them. Poison gas works too. Or flame-throwers, but those are kinda ineffective, since they run out of fuel fast." She reached out again and grabbed some different treats—brown little balls that left smudges on her hands, but tasted absolutely amazing. She chewed on them blissfully for quite a while, until she realized that Lha-Mi was watching her far too intently. "Um, anyway, Force Hounds are trained to do that too—so generally, hacking someone's hand or leg works too, because they're in too much pain to focus most of the time."
She took some more of the brown melting treats, wondering if she was missing something.
"And how many Force Hounds are there?" Lha-Mi asked.
"Well, not that many, really," she said. "My master has- had two. Me and another, but she died, and her replacement was just picked. Some of the higher-ranking officers have one too, but there's probably more of you then there is of them." She frowned. "The exact number varies, really, because if someone wants to get rid of an officer—I mean, if they aren't sentenced, or something else legal—then you also have to get rid of their Force Hound. And then we die in duels, occasionally."
"Can you give us approximates?" Lha-Mi asked, now sounding somewhat irritated.
"Um, I think so? I can give you lots of approximates—just give me something where I can write them down, so you don't have to bother writing them down on your own," she said quickly. Whatever it was that was irritating him, it was better to sooth him quickly. She had just given him advice on how to subdue her, after all.
"Thank you," Lha-Mi said. "That is very thoughtful of you."
Vev settled back and realized with some disappointment that she had eaten all of the amazingly tasty brown things.