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“Lies, lies, lies,” the repulsive little creature opined. “Like a Gran!”

“Well, I suppose I agree with you there,” Melvosh Bloor allowed, giving his guide a condescending smile. “But I won’t tell Jabba you said that about him if you won’t tell him I agreed with you.”

“Ohhh, I won’t tell Jabba. Hahahahaha.”

“Er, good.” Really, the creature’s unseemly attacks of hilarity were becoming most distressing to the academic’s timid nature. “Jabba’s ethics aside, Professor P’tan went on to insist that he undertake my proposed study. Which he did. Perhaps the board felt that one miserable thief was best qualified to interview another.”

“Miserable thief? Jabba the Hutt? Jabba, miserable thief, lies like a Gran?” The guide’s tasseled ears pricked up.

“Do excuse my language. Heat of the moment. Although, um, I believe that last bit—lies like a Gran—you said that … didn’t you?”

“Didn’t.” The lipless mouth snapped shut.

“But you did! I admit, I said Jabba lies, but you were the one who—” A glance at that hard little face made Melvosh Bloor realize he was engaged in a losing battle over a minor point. He sighed wearily. “Very well, have it your way, if you insist: I said Jabba lies like a Gran. Now may I continue?”

A taloned paw executed a parody of a fine lady’s gesture when dismissing an unwanted servant.

“So P’tan came here.” The Kalkal’s wide mouth was exceptionally well suited to a grim expression. “And was never heard from again. We all hoped—assumed he was dead, but the board likes to be sure. That way they have a solid reason for cutting off his wife’s benefits. That is why they sent me, to determine conclusively whether Professor P’tan still lived. Ridiculous, of course; he had to be dead. I resolved to turn this trip into the expedition it should have been in the first place—my expedition to interview Jabba the Hutt. Now you tell me Professor P’tan is still alive.” The academic’s teeth ground together.

“Still alive.” The creature leered. “Sarlacc eat one meal loooooong time, hahahahaha!”

“The Sarlacc!” Melvosh Bloor was horrorstruck. While he was no expert on life beyond the university walls, he had heard enough shivery tales of the Sarlacc and its protracted digestive habits while he was awaiting his Jawa guide in Mos Eisley to more than compensate for that lacuna in his education. “You mean Professor P’tan fell into the—the—?”

“Splat,” his guide provided smugly. “Splat, ow, shrieeeeeeek!” he added as an afterthought.

“Not so loud, not so loud!” Melvosh Bloor hissed, making desperate hushing motions with his hands.

“Huh! Coward. Think I stupid?” The creature put on an air of the highest dudgeon. “Like fool guide fool P’tan hire? Fools for Sarlacc pit! I offer be his guide. He listen? Nooooooo. He lunch! Dinner. Breakfast. More lunch. Snack. Sup—”

The academic was taken aback by this diatribe. “Mercy on us, P’tan’s guide must have been a fool of the first water. Whom did he hire? How stupid was he?”

For an answer, the creature flew into gales of wheezy joy. “How stupid was he? How stupid was he? Fool P’tan went hire”—snorts and guffaws—”went hire”—gasps for air and fresh howls of mirth—“went hire Salacious Crumb!” Having communicated this intelligence, the whole effort proved to be too much for the small creature and he laughed so hard he fell off his perch onto his head. He then said a nasty word so arcane that Melvosh Bloor made haste to enter it in his datapad for later linguistic study before asking:

“Who—who is Salacious Crumb? I’m afraid I don’t know—”

“Uh-huh.” The creature grunted emphatically, clambering back onto his sandstone block.

“But … what’s so foolish about hiring this Salacious Crumb? Has he no experience with the layout of the palace?”

“Experience? Hee! Knows palace like back of my—his right paw. Ha!”

“In that case … not a good contact for approaching Jabba? He is one of the Hutt’s enemies, perhaps?”

“Hutt’s enemy?” A groan of melodramatic proportions shook the small creature as it covered its face with its paws. “No one closer to Bloated One! No one! All day, every day, Hutt