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A message had been scrawled in huge letters across the wall: “Freeze, Jabba, in the Ninth Circle of Damnation!” The words were already half covered by other, less creative admonitions and obscenities. Quickly, Yarna led the way to an intricately carved panel, and pressed the tail of a fanciful creature. A small door swung open. “How did you know about this panel?” Doallyn demanded as he began stuffing the cartridges into a bag, after sliding several into his pocket. Yarna methodically scooped up several credit disks that lay on the bottommost shelf.

“I was Jabba’s favorite dancer,” Yarna said. “He would send for me sometimes when he couldn’t sleep, and I would dance the sand-wave ballet for him. He said it helped him relax after a busy day. One time Jabba fell asleep, and I was dozing over there”—she pointed at the sleeping dais—“when Bib Fortuna entered. He didn’t know I was awake, and he opened the panel.”

“I’m surprised Jabba trusted him with the secret of his hiding place,” Doallyn said, as they cautiously left the chamber with the guard in the lead, blaster at the ready.

Yarna smiled mirthlessly. “Jabba didn’t trust anyone. He—”

She broke off in alarm as they rounded a corner and she recognized a familiar shape silhouetted in the dark corridor. Long, lean, shrouded in shadow … Dannik Jerriko! The dancer gasped and shrank back, as Doallyn, with commendable composure, raised his weapon. “Don’t move, Jerriko!”

The vampire turned his head, and his features came into view. Yarna whimpered with terror. No demon spewed up out of Askaj’s Nethermost Abyss could have looked more evil. Fury contorted Jerriko’s features, and the pouches on either side of his face writhed as if with a life of their own. His mouth opened in a soundless snarl of rage. The Askajian clapped both hands over her mouth to hold back a shriek. Doallyn’s finger must have tightened involuntarily on the trigger of his weapon, for an energy bolt suddenly erupted in a white flash.

The shadowy figure melted into a doorway up ahead.

Yarna had to admire Doallyn’s courage, even as she questioned his sanity. He charged after the alien, and the dancer, against her better judgment, followed.

But when they reached the doorway of the chamber, and Doallyn keyed the illumination on, the room was empty of life. No other doors, no windows … but still, it was empty. “He couldn’t just vanish,” the guard muttered, sounding shaken. “Is there a secret passage, or hidden door?”

Yarna shook her head. “Not that I know of. But the palace has many secrets. There are passages beneath it, you know. Part of this place is still a B’omarr monastery.”

Doallyn’s breath whistled exasperatedly, then he shut the door, and locked it behind him. Yarna heard him cursing softly in what sounded like his native tongue. “He saw me,” he said finally, reverting to universal Basic. “Now he’ll be looking for me, too. I’m going with you.”

“But—” Yarna hesitated. She couldn’t leave anyone to face the death that had so nearly claimed her. “All right,” she said.

Their next stop was the kitchen. “Porcellus is a friend of mine … he kept things here for me,” Yarna said, as she ventured into the pantry. “I hope he managed to get away safely …”

In the distant recesses of the pantry the Askajian had cached several blankets, some water flasks, and a couple of old, thick jackets she’d purloined from the guard barracks over the months. Hanging above them on a hook was a white bundle that could have been a voluminous apron—but was not. Yarna shook out the gauzy, faintly shining material, and it was revealed to be a long, loose robe with an attached, cowllike hood. “My desert robe,” she said, noting Doallyn’s glance. “We’ll have to find something for you.”

He nodded and held a bag as she briskly selected containers of preserved food from the shelves. “Now water,” she said, as he fastened the container and slung it over his shoulder. Going over to the sink, she indicated the desert flasks to Doallyn. “Fill these up, please.”

While he obeyed, Yarna herself filled a large container of water and drank