Star Wars_ The Approaching Storm - Alan Dean Foster [27]
Where had the Padawan gone? It wasn’t like her to stray. A free-roaming Padawan had autonomy, but no access to greater knowledge. Kenobi took notice of her concern and moved to stand next to his colleague.
“Something amiss, Luminara?”
“I don’t see Barriss, Obi-Wan. She usually hangs on my every word, as well as on those of whomever I happen to be with at the time.”
He smiled reassuringly. “Then it’s not surprising she’s off somewhere. We’ve both been pretty quiet here these last few moments.”
“Last time I saw her,” Anakin put in, “she was looking at wood carvings in a shop.” Though he did not reach for his weapon, his natural protective instinct was instantly aroused.
Luminara’s deep blue eyes met his. “Which shop?” she demanded.
“Not to worry, Master,” Anakin told her. “I’ve kept an eye on the entryway ever since she stepped inside. She hasn’t come out.”
“Hasn’t come out this way, you mean. It’s probably nothing, and she dislikes it when I act more like a mother than a teacher, but Barriss absorbs and files sights very quickly. It’s not like her to linger.” Her eyes bored into the Padawan’s. “Which shop?” she reiterated.
Sensing the seriousness in her manner, Anakin put aside any remaining vestige of flippancy, raised a hand, and pointed. “That one, over there.” He followed close behind the two Jedi as they walked rapidly toward the establishment he’d identified.
The door was propped open, which was not surprising. No one acknowledged their entrance, which was.
“Barriss?” Luminara’s anxiety rose as she moved rapidly through the shop, searching among the larger wood carvings that crowded the back. A shout redirected her exploration.
“Luminara!” It was Obi-Wan. That in itself was alarming, because she had already noted that he hardly ever raised his voice. “Over here!”
He was cradling the head of the elderly Ansionian female against his right leg. Anakin looked on, his usual buoyancy gone, his expression stricken. “Water,” Obi-Wan called tersely. Hunting hurriedly through a rear room, Anakin found a cooler half full of small polymer receptacles. Bringing one containing cold water forward, he handed it to his Master and watched while Obi-Wan lightly sprinkled the contents on the oldster’s face. Her large eyes, the color of fine claret, blinked open moments later.
“Goodness me—by Nomgon’s Arm!” She studied the alien human faces gazing worriedly down at her. “Who are you people? What happened to me?” Using her hands to push herself into a sitting position, she added bewilderedly, “Why am I lying on the floor?”
Luminara studied her fixedly. “We were hoping you could tell us that.”
Obi-Wan and Anakin helped the proprietress to her feet.
“This—this is my shop. My place. I was showing some wares to a customer.” One hand went to her head and rubbed her graying brush of mane forward. “Alwari, he was. Said he was Pangay Ous, and wore the right raiment. But his manner was odd.” Her face added wrinkles of distaste to those shaped by age. “There was another with him, I think. I remember because he was ugly, and yet his companion made him look handsome.”
“A young human female, dressed like us,” Luminara broke in. “Have you seen anyone like that?”
The elderly native blinked. “Ou, to be sure. Very attentive she was, though I suspect not intending to buy anything.” She smiled, showing sharp Ansionian teeth. “When you’ve been in this business as long as I have, you can tell, even with different species.”
“Where is she now?” Obi-Wan inquired in his soft yet commanding voice.
“Why—I don’t know. I don’t know where any of them are.” The proprietress looked down and shook her head. “Last I remember, we were speaking of odors, and then …” She looked up blankly. “Then I opened my eyes, to see you three bending over me. What do you suppose