Darth Plagueis - James Luceno [61]
“As is the view,” Plagueis said, gesturing broadly toward the lake.
Dressed casually, though in fine taste, the silver-haired man advanced into the foyer. “I’m so glad you decided to accept my invitation to visit, Magister Damask.”
“The presence of armed guards suggested an absence of choice, Cosinga Palpatine.”
“They were for your protection, Magister.”
“I never thought of Naboo as a dangerous world.”
“For some it is,” the elder Palpatine said. “But now that you are here, allow me to show you around.”
The tour took them through a dozen rooms adorned with plush carpets and works of art. Stonework predominated, but the furniture was constructed of the galaxy’s most prized hardwoods. By the time they stepped down onto the veranda the woman and the youth were nowhere to be seen, but the breeze had picked up and a storm was threatening. Cosinga Palpatine indicated an island in the distance, and the stately house that rose from the shore.
“That is Varykino,” he explained. “A prize of the Lake Country. Once owned by the poet Omar Berenko, and presently occupied by the Naberrie family.” He glanced at Plagueis. “Are you perhaps familiar with Berenko’s masterwork, The Defense of Naboo?”
“Sadly, no.”
“I’ll arrange for you to be provided with a translation.”
“A copy in the original text would be fine. I’m fluent in your language.”
Testing him, Cosinga Palpatine switched to Naboo to say, “Yes, I understand you’ve become quite the expert on Naboo politics.” Before Plagueis could respond, he waved his hand in front of a sensor that summoned three servants onto the veranda, each bearing trays of food and drink.
Plagueis exhaled in a fatigued way. More food, he thought; more olfactory stimulation for human noses.
They sat opposite each other at the same table the woman and youth had occupied earlier, and remained silent while the servants laid out the repast.
“Fresh fruits, vegetables, and farinaceous dishes,” Palpatine said, indicating the spread. “No shaak or other meats.”
Plagueis forced a smile. “Perhaps you’ll take up a study of the Muun language next.”
His host frowned, then sat back in his chair to allow the servants to heap food on his plates. He didn’t begin eating until the servants had exited, and stopped after only a few mouthfuls and set his utensils down with finality.
“Let me tell you a short story about Bon Tapalo and Ars Veruna,” he began, glowering at Plagueis. “Seventy years ago, some two decades after our own conflict with them, the Gungans found themselves embroiled in a war for survival with a mercenary army. Fortunately the Gungans prevailed, though not without many deaths and the loss of some of their swamp cities. Very little was ever made public regarding the cause of the war or the source of the mercenaries, but I’m willing to let you in on one of Naboo’s darker secrets, in the hope that you’ll learn something from it. The reason for the war was plasma, and the Houses that contributed most to funding the mercenary army were House Tapalo and House Veruna. When my grandfather learned of this he challenged Tapalo’s father to a duel of honor, and eventually succumbed to the injuries Tapalo’s blade inflicted.” He gestured to a lawn that bordered the veranda. “The duel took place just there.”
Plagueis glanced at the spot. “How utterly romantic and human.”
Cosinga Palpatine’s handsome face took on color. “Perhaps you fail to grasp the point of the story, Magister. Tapalo, Veruna, and the rest of that group of thugs are interested only in power and wealth, at whatever cost to Naboo. The discovery of a plasma reservoir below Theed was the worst thing that could have happened. And now they mean to exploit it for all it’s worth, with the aid of influential beings like yourself. This is why Tapalo must never be king.”
Plagueis pretended to consider it, then said, “It would appear that the electorate disagrees with you.”
Palpatine nodded. “For now, yes. But we have plans for bringing the electorate back into line. Beginning with an announcement