“Merely anticipating, FourDee.”
“I understand. I would do the same.”
“That’s comforting to know.”
Plagueis fixed the lightsaber hilt to his hip and set out at a fast clip, all but outracing the rain. If the scanners and motion detectors were as precise as they appeared to be, they would find him, though his speed might cause whoever was monitoring the security devices to mistake him for one of the wild, bushy-tailed quadrupeds that inhabited the landscape. He paused at the nebulous edge of the illuminated area to confirm his bearings, then made straight for the castle’s ten-meter-high southern wall and leapt to the top without breaking stride. Just as quickly and as effortlessly he dropped into the garden below and sprinted into the shadows cast by an ornamental shrub trimmed to resemble some whimsical beast. Plagueis reasoned that security would be lax inside the manse, but that Veruna’s wing of rooms would be outfitted with redundant monitoring devices and perhaps pressure-sensitive floors.
That he hadn’t been able to procure an interior plan of the castle was a testament to the self-exiled regent’s hypervigilance.
Plagueis moved to a stained-glass window just as two humans were hurrying through a hallway beyond. With rain overflowing a gutter high overhead, he felt as if he were standing behind a waterfall.
“Check on him and report back to me,” the female was saying.
Plagueis recognized the voice of security chief Magneta. Sticking close to the outer wall, he paralleled the movement of Magneta’s subordinate to the end of the hallway, then through a right-angled turn into a broader hall that led to a control room tucked beneath the sweep of a grand staircase. Plagueis sharpened his auditory senses to hear Magneta’s man ask after Veruna, and a human female reply, “Sleeping like a baby.”
“Good for him. While the rest of us drown.”
“If you’re so miserable, Chary,” the woman said, “you should consider returning to Theed.”
“I’m thinking about it.”
“Just don’t expect me to follow you.”
Plagueis stepped away from the wall to glance at the upper-story windows, all of which were dark, save for an arched opening near the end of the wall. Crouching, he maneuvered through bushes under a series of wide windows, then began to scale the wall, fastened to it like an insect. The tall and narrow target opening turned out to be a fixed pane of thick glass; the source of the light, a pair of photonic sconces that flanked a set of elaborately carved wooden double doors. Peering through the glass, he flicked his fingers at a security cam mounted high on the inner wall and aimed at the doorway, dazzling the mechanism and freezing the image of an unoccupied antechamber. Then, placing his left hand at the center of the glass, he called on the Force, pushing inward on the pane until it broke free of the adhesive weatherseal that held it in place. Telekinetically, he manipulated the intact pane to rest atop a table snugged to the opposite wall of the antechamber, and slipped through the opening. For a long moment he remained on the inner windowsill, waiting for his cloak and boots to dry and studying the patterned floor and double doors for evidence of additional security devices. Satisfied that the stunned cam was all there was, he planted his feet on the floor and walked to the doors, using the Force to trick them into opening just enough to accommodate his passing between them.
The only light in Veruna’s enormous bedroom came from a cam similar to the one in the antechamber, and just as easily foiled. The former King himself was sleeping on his back under shimmersilk sheets in the center of a canopied bed large enough to fit half a dozen humans of average size. Plagueis disabled a bedside panel of security alarms, moved an antique chair to the foot of the bed, and switched on a table lamp that supplied dim, yellowish light. Then, sitting down, he roused Veruna from sleep.
The old man woke with a start, blinking in response to the light, then propping himself up against a gathering of pillows to scan the room. His eyes widened in thunderstruck surprise when they found Plagueis seated at the edge of the light’s reach.
“Who—”
“Hego Damask, Your Majesty. Beneath this mask my former enemies may as well have fashioned for me.”
Since Veruna’s eyes couldn’t open any wider, his jaw dropped and he flailed for the security control panels, slamming his hand down on the buttons when they didn’t respond.
“I’ve rendered them inoperative,” Plagueis explained, “along with the security cams. Just so that you and I could converse without being interrupted.”
Veruna swallowed and found his voice. “How did you get past my guards, Damask?”
“We’ll come to that in a moment.”
“Magne—” Veruna attempted to scream until his voice went mute and he clutched at his throat.
“There will be none of that,” Plagueis warned.
“What do you want with me, Damask?” Veruna asked when he could, breathing hard.
“Closure.”
Veruna stared at him in disbelief. “You got what you wanted. Isn’t it enough that I abdicated?”
“Your abdication would have been enough, had you not tried first to have me killed.”
Veruna gritted his teeth. “Everything I built was in jeopardy of being taken from me — even the monarchy! You left me no choice!”
Plagueis stood and reseated himself on the edge of the bed, like some macabre confessor. “I understand. Faced with a similar choice, I might have done the same. The difference is that I would have succeeded where you failed.”
“I’ll remain here,” Veruna said in a grasping way. “I won’t cause you or Palpatine any more trouble.”
“That’s true.” Plagueis paused, then said, “Perhaps I should have been more honest with you from the start. I delivered the Trade Federation to you; I put Tapalo, then you on the throne. How did you imagine I came by such power?”
Veruna ran a trembling hand over his thinning hair. “You were born the son of a wealthy Muun, and transformed that wealth into power.”
Plagueis made a sound of disappointment. “Have you not yet learned that the galaxy isn’t moved by credits alone?”
Veruna gulped and found his voice. “How did you come by such power, Damask?” he asked in a whisper of genuine interest.
“I was shown the way to power by a Bith named Rugess Nome.”
“I know the name.”
“Yes, but his true name was Darth Tenebrous, and he wore the mantle of the Dark Lord of the Sith. I was at one time his apprentice.”
“Sith,” Veruna said, as if weakened by the very word.
“Had you known, would you have allied with me?”
Veruna marshaled the strength to shake his head. “Political power is one thing, but what you represent …”
Plagueis made his lips a thin line. “I appreciate your honesty, Veruna. Are you beginning to tire of my presence?”
“Not … of you,” Veruna said, with eyes half closed.
“Let me explain what is happening to you,” Plagueis said. “The cells that make up all living things contain within them organelles known as midi-chlorians. They are, in addition to being the basis for life, the elements that enable beings like me to perceive and use the Force. As the result of a lifetime of study, I have learned how to manipulate midi-chlorians, and I have instructed the limited number you possess to return to their source. In plain Basic, Veruna, I am killing you.”
Veruna’s face was losing color, and his breathing had slowed. “Bring … me back. I can still be … of service … to you …”
“But you are, Your Majesty. A celebrated ancient poet once said that every death lessened him, for he considered himself to be a brother to every living being. I, on the other hand, have come to understand that every death I oversee nourishes and
“No … better than … an Anzati.”
“The brain eaters? What does
