Star Wars_ The Approaching Storm - Alan Dean Foster [87]
“These are essences from the Dzavak Lakes district, far to the west of here.” Baiuntu spoke pridefully. “You will not find the like anywhere in Cuipernam. I would champion them in a contest of fine perfumes against any scents acquired anywhere in the Republic.” He waved a thick-fingered hand encouragingly. “Go on, go on! Try them. The paluruvu—that’s the violet-hued liquid in the bottle at the end of the display—is particularly flamboyant. A couple of drops of the pure essence blended with clear water will make a large flagon of expensive perfume.” He smiled broadly.
“The Alwari may be prairie-dwelling nomads, but they are not uncivilized. Like the Qulun, they, too, enjoy the finer things. These essences are among our best sellers. After days spent traveling the open plains in the company of a great many reeking herd and draft animals, a well-off Alwari couple is grateful for the opportunity to moderate the natural bouquet within their home.”
Tentatively, Luminara tried a whiff of several of the different extracts. All were outstanding, but true to Baiuntu’s word, the paluruvu was exceptional.
“Wonderful,” she declared as she passed the tray to Obi-Wan. His sampling was more perfunctory than hers, but he, too, had to admit that the assortment was the equal of anything he had encountered on Coruscant or any other equally sophisticated world of the Republic.
By the time Barriss and Anakin took their turn, the room was awash in a spectacular swirl of scents. These cloaked the atmosphere entirely, drowning out any hint of corralled animals or bustling clanfolk. As Luminara looked on, Baiuntu yawned hugely. Come to think of it, she was feeling quite weary herself. It had been a long day. Straightening, she prepared to excuse herself and her companions. That was the first inkling she had that something was wrong.
She couldn’t straighten.
In fact, she could not even sit up. Her taut, lean muscles seemed to have turned to mush, to have buckled into the cushions and pillows that supported them. Her head swam, and she felt like she was melting into the floor. Out of rapidly blurring eyes she saw Obi-Wan rise and attempt to draw his lightsaber. His fingers clutched futilely in its vicinity. Even if he had succeeded in drawing and activating the weapon, there was no one to fight. Their host was already wheezing away sonorously, his hands clasped across his most un-Ansionian belly. The eye-catching essence presenter was lying nearby, her lithe form sound asleep at his feet.
“Something’s—Barriss!” Attempting to shout, Luminara produced only a loud whisper. Her Padawan did not hear her. Barriss lay sprawled on her own cushioning divan, head back, mouth open, and limbs akimbo. Not far away, Anakin Skywalker lay facedown a body-length or two from the entrance to the visitors’ house. A house, Luminara saw through a thickening haze, whose doors had been firmly and surreptitiously shut tight. To keep them in, she wondered? Or to seal in the striking, swirling mélange of fragrances? It amounted, she realized, to the same thing.
Paluruvu not only excited the sense of smell, she thought woozily. It also must contain the powerful sedative that was rendering her and her companions senseless. But if the result was intentional, why would Baiuntu subject himself and the female who had offered it up to the same sleep-inducing effects? Struggling to crawl toward the door, she tried to draw her own weapon. The effort was to no avail. Her brain no longer seemed capable of establishing contact with her fingers.
Nearby, Obi-Wan dropped to his knees and looked over at her. His expression was blank, drugged. As she stared, his eyes closed and he fell over onto