Qilori looked back at the male, wondering who the female was to him and why she’d reacted so strongly to his rebuke. His face, now in profile, seemed as vaguely familiar as his voice.
He felt his winglets go rigid. The face—the voice—
It was Thrawn.
The Chiss turned away, but for those first few seconds Qilori was rooted to the spot. He’d been told there were two Chiss aboard the Garwian ship he’d been hired to navigate, but they were supposed to be some stuffy academic type and his companion or servant or some such.
Only it wasn’t. It was Thrawn. Thrawn in civilian garb, running under an assumed name. And that could only mean one thing.
A big, fat bonus.
His first impulse was to head straight over to the Benevolent, cut into whatever conversation he was having, and give him the news. But common sense and caution intervened. Even if Yiv didn’t have him whipped for sheer insolence, breaking protocol that way would draw unwelcome attention. Better—and safer—to wait until the Benevolent had a moment free.
And while he waited for that moment…
Thrawn was standing by the sweet-sour section of the food array, surveying the different offerings, when Qilori caught up with him. “I’d stay away from the kiki,” he warned, pointing to a mix of red, orange, and pale-blue half-moons. “It takes a particular set of digestive juices to handle it properly.”
“Interesting,” Thrawn said, peering more closely at the bowl. “Odd that our hosts would even include such a specialized dish.”
“Maybe,” Qilori said. “But you’d be surprised how many people will gladly trade a minute of delectable taste for an hour of gastric discomfort. I believe you were aboard my ship.”
“Your ship?” Thrawn frowned, and then his expression cleared. “Ah—you mean you were Envoy Proslis’s navigator. I’m Artistic Master Svorno, chief curator of the Nunech Art Collection.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Qilori said, wondering briefly if he should give his own name or instead come up with something fictitious.
Neither, he decided. Even if Thrawn didn’t recognize Qilori’s face, he might remember his name, and a false name would be too easy to expose. “What brings you to Primea?”
“The hope of finally putting to rest the absurd theory that the Vaks and Garwians had a trade relationship back in the Midorian Era,” Thrawn said. “It was proposed eighty years ago by that fool Professor—” He broke off. “But of course, you’re not interested in such things.”
“I’m afraid history and artistic theory are far above my intelligence,” Qilori said politely with a flicker of cynical amusement. Thrawn could change his name and play dress-up all he wanted, but he would never pass himself off as a true academic until he recognized that such people loved to rattle on about their specialties whether their audiences wanted to hear it or not. “But I’m sure the Vak records will have everything you’re looking for. Can I offer any introductions?”
“I’ve already spoken with all those I need to,” Thrawn said, craning his neck and looking around. “I’m also familiar with most of the species here. Few of them have art that’s worthy of the name.” He lifted a finger. “I haven’t seen one of those before. You know them?”
Qilori felt his winglets stiffen. Thrawn was pointing straight at Yiv. “I believe they’re called Nikardun.”
“Really,” Thrawn said. “I’ve heard some vague and ridiculous stories about them. I don’t suppose you could get me through that crowd?”
“I might,” Qilori said carefully. Was it really going to be this easy? “I believe the Pathfinders have had some dealings with them. If you’d like to wait here, I’ll go see if he’s amenable to a conversation.”
“All right, but be quick,” Thrawn said. “I have early-rising meetings and can’t remain here much longer.”
“Of course.” Expecting everyone else to bend their schedules around his. That was more like a true senior academic.
Yiv was laughing at some joke when Qilori reached him. The Benevolent’s eyes flicked to him, the rippling of his shoulder symbionts warning the newcomer to wait his turn. Qilori took another step forward, waited until Yiv paused for a breath, and cleared his throat. “He’s here,” he said quietly.
“Who’s here?” one of the Vaks chortled, sparking another chorus of laughter. Either Qilori had unwittingly provided an extra punch line to the current joke or else the group was so drunk they were ready to laugh at anything.
But all the humor had vanished from Yiv’s face. “He is here?” he asked.
Qilori nodded.
Abruptly, Yiv boomed out a laugh, the sudden sound startling all the others to silence. “A moment of leave, my fine friends,” he said with a cheerfulness that didn’t extend to his eyes. “I must bid you all farewell for a few moments. I suggest you avail yourselves of the lavish dining display provided by our hosts.”
Qilori waited until the crowd had cleared out. Then, at Yiv’s small gesture, he stepped to the Benevolent’s chair. “Thrawn?” Yiv asked, in a tone warning that Qilori had better not have interrupted him for anything less important.
“Yes, your Benevolence,” Qilori confirmed. “He’s at mid-distance behind me, dressed in Chiss formalwear.” He dared a smiling twitch of his winglets. “He’s traveling as an art expert under the name Svorno. He’s also heard of the Nikardun and would very much like to meet one.”
“Would he, now,” Yiv said, his symbionts settling into their epaulet pattern. “Let’s not disappoint him, then. Please; bring him over.”
“Yes, your Benevolence.”
Qilori turned and retraced his steps to where Thrawn was waiting. “Come with me,” he said. “General Yiv the Benevolent will see you now.”
“General Yiv,” Thrawn said, scowling. “A military type. So. Unlikely to know anything about his species’ art, then.”
“I really don’t know,” Qilori said, feeling sudden tension in his winglets. Surely Thrawn wasn’t going to back out of the meeting now? The consequences of such a blatant snub might be catastrophic, and not just to Thrawn and the Chiss. “But he might. You never know what bits of knowledge military people have tucked away. You should at least take a moment and ask him.”
Thrawn considered, then gave a small shrug. “Oh, very well. If only because I can’t properly retire to my quarters until my…companion…returns.”
“Yes, that’s—I’m sure you’ll find the general interesting,” Qilori said. Companion…but hadn’t he called the female a hostage before?
But that didn’t make any sense. What kind of hostage traveled openly with her captor? For that matter, since when did the Chiss culture deal with hostages? “Come with me.”
Yiv was waiting silently as the Pathfinder and Chiss approached, a half smile on his face, an unblinking gaze in his eyes. “Your Benevolence, may I present Artistic Master Svorno of the Chiss Ascendancy. Master Svorno, General Yiv the Benevolent of the Nikardun Destiny.”
“General,” Thrawn said, inclining his head in greeting. “I understand that you’re a military man.”
“That’s right, Art Master,” Yiv said. “I understand that you aren’t.”
A hint of a smile touched Thrawn’s lips. “Indeed,” he said. “A shame. Military men are so seldom interested in art.” He half turned and pointed to a large decorated cloth hanging from the ceiling to near the floor. “That tapestry over there, for instance. I would wager you haven’t even noticed it.”