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The thing about this castle is that it’s old. It was old long before any Hutt slid their slimy selves over the sandstone. Boba has spent a large portion of his life calling this castle an unofficial home base, and in the timeline of the castle itself Boba’s time here has hardly made a blip. Over its history, what had once been a temple has been transformed into a fortress; things have been added and destroyed and re-added, and their spa is only the newest idea to fill the space.
The large airy rotunda has been cleared as best as it could be of sand. The panoramic views of the Dune Sea are actually quite nice, and once they had cleaned the panels that moved the air around, the open space was bright and cool.
Now the biggest problem is the monks. There is definitely more than one nest. All the cleaning and renovation had agitated them, and several times now Boba finds himself forced to physically restrain the urge to hop onto the throne to get away from their skittering spider legs. It wouldn’t be so bad if they weren’t still sentient in their weird little jars. It is ordinarily easy enough to ignore them. The ones Fennec hadn’t already hacked stay mostly in the lower levels, not interested in the noise and bustle of the palace proper. Some measure of guilt gnaws at Boba, like he is chasing the monks from a space that was rightfully theirs—but inviting guests to relax in a rotunda filled with spider droids in the ceiling is not his idea of a fun time.
Besides, the monks don’t seem to mind all that much, more than happy to scuttle downstairs with little prompting.
Sipping boiling hot caf, Boba tries to listen to Calrissian as he traipses around the large kitchens making suggestions of things to change or upgrade. Does a spa need a full service kitchen for guests? As of now, only half of the equipment works, and while Boba has things on order for that, it takes time for parts to arrive.
Y’Gabba is also ignoring the increasingly emphatic ranting going on in front of them, and slides Boba a plate containing a thick slice of bread slathered generously with the sweet butter she knows he likes. She is not someone Boba expected to see again, but he has to admit that it is nice to have her here. Her hair is more properly blond than brown now, and there are lines on her face, though Boba has a few lines of his own as well. She has come a long way from the little girl that had stolen his helmet for that Neimodian. Only a real huttuun makes children do their dirty work.
Chewing thoughtfully on the bread, Boba’s eyes find the small faded slashes on the far wall where Y’Gabba’s father had marked their heights as children. It seemed like an entire lifetime ago, yet the marks are still there. Gab’borah had been kind when Boba had first come to the palace, determined to prove himself as a capable bounty hunter, and he had been endlessly thankful when Boba had reunited him with his daughter.
“If you try to take out my firebricks, I will be forced to hurt you.” Y’Gabba says, leaning against the table, finally focusing her attention on where Calrissian has been pacing.
The look that Calrissian gives Boba is pleading but only earns him a shrug.
“She has the say. It’s her kitchen.” Boba stuffs the rest of the bread in his mouth and pushes himself up from the stool, draining the last of his caf.
He’s almost out of the room when Y’Gabba calls out for him.
“There’s something wrong with the pipes in the hall. Fennec thought the kitchens might be the source, but the pressure for the baths is all wrong.”
Boba turns slowly, fixing her with a stare. “If it’s not the kitchens—“
“It’s downstairs.” Calrissian chimes in, “Probably some old pipe burst.”
Why can’t anything be easy.
Fennec is not sympathetic to his plight, simply glancing up at him when he storms into her office. There are a truly alarming number of flimsi folders and datapads on her desk.
“What do you want me to say?” she asks when he explains the situation, leaning back in her chair to rest her boots on the desk. “It’s certainly a problem that’s going to need fixing.”
“So you just want someone, I’m assuming me, to go down into the depths of the castle and try to find a broken pipe.” Boba glares at her, but he knows it has no real effect.
“It does sound like your department.” There’s a smile creeping in around her eyes, and Boba is regretting many of the life decisions that have brought him to this point.
“I’m not a plumber.” Boba grouses, crossing his arms over his chest.
“We could trade?” She waves a hand across the disorder on her desk, and Boba feels a shiver crawl up his spine. The smile that’s been threatening behind Fennec’s eyes finally finds her lips, and Boba wants to die again.
It’s not that he’s categorically against it. He’s fine with getting his hands dirty and actually prefers doing things himself. But as comfortable as he is with the palace, there are things in the depths that he shudders to think about.
It is, after all, one of the few clear warnings that his father had left him with. The words still ring through Boba’s head: “At all costs, avoid the lower levels,” Jango’s voice says in one of the few holo-recordings Boba has “There is one rule, and one rule only, when dealing with Jabba the Hutt. Do not fail.”
“If you’re worried about it, bring Mando.” Fennec’s gaze shifts past Boba’s shoulder, and he knows without turning that Din has appeared behind him. For someone in full plate armor he sure can move quietly. “You’re not busy, right?”
“Not busy.” Din intones, and Boba’s shoulders droop.
Boba turns and brushes past him, “Bring a light with you. And your blaster.” It’s all he adds before heading for his rooms to dig through his kit.
He has some idea of what they might find down there, but a lot of it is a mystery. He wants to be well-prepared in case they find some creature that Jabba had decided to imprison. It wouldn’t be the first they’d set free.
They gather quite the entourage once they’re prepared, Din has followed Boba’s suggestion and quite notably added the beskar spear at his back. Good. Fennec must have warned him. Maybe they would get lucky and there wouldn’t be much more than dust and jar monks down there. Boba almost laughs. Nothing so far has been easy. Boba approaches the large durasteel door that leads into the lower levels, nothing as trivial as fear slowing his steps, but certainly a healthy caution. Around them, Fennec, Calrissian, and an assorted handful of staff and onlookers peer at the door.
“If you take too long down there, I’m going to file for ownership.” Calrissian says, hands on his hips.
“Good luck with that.” Boba reaches for the keypad set into the wall, tugging out the data stick in his vambrace and sticking it into the port—waiting for the pad to chime and the heavy lock in the door to clunk open, “I have a feeling you’ll have to fight Fennec for the place.”
Cool, stale air rushes from the door as it heaves open, darkness yawning like a void as their only greeting.
Boba turns to share a look with Din beside him, and only gets a single-shoulder shrug before the silver-clad Mandalorian steps past him, the gleam of his armor bringing some light into the gloom. Convenient. And Fennec had said to bring a light source.
“Close the door behind us. Wouldn’t want anything getting out.” Boba says, turning to give a lazy salute to their assembled entourage before he too stepped into the gloom.
The door clanks closed behind them with finality. Boba has a moment of vague anxiety before he swallows it back, glancing around as his visor adjusts to their limited light. It’s not fully black at this level, just dark.
But Din has a light on the side of his helmet that is surprisingly effective at cutting through the dimness.
“Hold on, I think there’s—” Din steps neatly around a stack of crates and a dim glow-lamp sputters to life, a haphazard line of them disappearing down a tunnel to their left.
With a little more light to work with, Boba takes stock of the room. It’s high-ceilinged but skinny, with carefully piled crates creating an awkward labyrinth. Grabbing one of the knives from his bandolier, Din pries the edge of one of them up, peering inside.
“Do you know what’s in these?” He asks, shoving his arm inside and shuffling around the hay inside. “This one looks like pottery.”
“There’s a lot of shipping manifests, but I haven’t read most of them. No way to tell what’s real and what’s manufactured to hide other goods.” Boba turns to the crate nearest to him and Din tosses him the knife so he can pry it open. Boba catches the hilt easily and gets to work. “This one’s...some kind of whiskey? Don’t tell Fennec that. I’ll give her a bottle for her birthday.”
Din disappears into the piles of crates, but Boba can still track the beam of his headlamp in the relative gloom.
The next crate Boba opens is more pottery, from what looked to be Chandrila.
As tempting as it is to dig through these crates, they are here for a reason. Edging around one of the more precarious-looking piles, Boba follows Din’s light until he spies him again, holding a large, violet glass sphere and turning it as it reflects the light around him in a myriad of colors.
“If you find something you like…” Boba prompts, but Din quickly shoves the sphere back into the hay that had been packed around it, turning from the crate.
Shrugging, Boba turns to lead the way down the hall, the path sloping steadily downwards and the air around them becoming slowly cooler. Maybe Din is just embarrassed by getting so distracted by a shiny object. Surely there are plenty of priceless artifacts down here, and someday Boba might go through some of them and see if they can be returned or at the least sold off for a profit—but at this point he has other priorities. If Din wants the shiny sphere he can tape it to his forehead for all Boba cares. As far as he is concerned, Din and Fennec get first dibs on anything they scrounge out of this castle.
There was another entrance to these tunnels, but it had been sealed off from the rest as a direct route to the ostentatious landing bay that Jabba had dug out of the side of the bluff. Now the hangar housed only Boba’s ship and a handful of pieces of speeders that hadn’t been looted.
The glow-lights slowly disappear as they continue to wind their way down. At the bottom of a set of wide steps, the cavern widens, steadily giving way from smoothed-out sandstone to rough-hewn rock that makes up the bones of the bluff on which the palace is built. A half-dozen paths split off from the chamber, so Boba quickly taps out a sequence on his vambrace controls and pulls up a holo-map of the castle. He drops a glowing pin to mark their location.
“Don’t suppose you’ve got wiring and plumbing tagged in there as well?” Din steps closer to Boba to examine the map, helmet tilting.
Boba turns slowly, watching the holo spin with him, “If only. This schematic only shows the parts of the palace that were actually mapped and kept up with. Not including any parts that someone might want left off of a map. The kitchens are that way, and the bath is to the right on the other floor. So I think we need to head this way.” He points.
Din doesn’t argue. Boba hadn’t expected him to.
The darkness encroaches as they descend further, the glow-lamps long since disappeared. The light from Din’s helmet hardly makes a dent in the true blackness. Out of a sense of caution, Boba turns up the audio input on his helmet, wary of any unfamiliar sounds that might signal an approach. He can hear the soft crackle of Din’s breathing.
And something else.
Throwing out an arm across Din, Boba tugs out his blaster, catching the flash of movement beside him as Din does the same.
There is a scrabbling noise coming closer to them. Boba’s hand on his blaster tightens, until he catches another flash of movement at the edge of Din’s light. He snaps his hand up to stay his companion’s where it twitches his own blaster up.
“It’s just one of the monks.”
And sure enough it is. It’s one of the larger four-legged varieties, moving somewhat awkwardly. One of its legs seems to be malfunctioning slightly, and it wobbles as it moves past them in the narrow chamber. Boba struggles not to wince, and beside him, Din’s breathing seems louder.
“Sorry,” Din murmurs, “Had a bad run-in with some ice spiders on Maldo Kries, and it left me a bit jumpy.”
“Remind me to tell you about the first time I ran into one of them sometime. Thought it was going to eat me. Jabba loved to let them crawl around on the ceiling and unnerve guests.”
Din reholsters his blaster and steps past Boba into the dark.
There are several off-shoots from this chamber, and he and Din briefly poke into each room they can smash open. Most are piled with more crates, some practically empty. One interestingly contains only a single, wide-handled sword stuck into the stone that they each take turns tugging at. But to no avail.
“Put your back into it.” Boba goads as Din plants his feet and wrenches at the sword, earning a snarl and a few choice expletives in Huttese. But the sword doesn’t budge.
When Din gives up after practically throwing himself backwards with the effort, Boba wraps both hands around the handle and gives it a wiggle, seeing if he can pry it out instead. Locking his prosthetic knee, he leans his weight into it to see if he can lever it loose, and then shoves at it, but it doesn’t budge. Din snorts out a laugh at his efforts, and Boba takes one hand off the sword to throw a rude gesture over his shoulder. Maybe it’s cemented into the stone, or there’s a trick lever somewhere in the room to force a magnet to let go. Boba has seen plenty of miracle peddlers that use machines to control a seemingly magical outcome—and that doesn’t account for any Jedi poodoo.
They eventually leave the sword, and Boba turns back to his map. The schematics cut off rather suddenly, as does their tunnel, taking a sharp right turn and an abrupt drop that Boba observes warily. As loath as he is to turn back, this seems to be the wrong way.
“I saw a turn back there. Maybe we can go that way.” Din jerks his head back the way they’d come, and Boba relents, the dialed up input on his helmet giving him only a forlorn whistle from the pit.
“There’s supposed to be a mine down here. The dungeons should be that way.” Boba regards the schematics with a frown. “And the beast pits are closest to the dungeons. I’d rather avoid those if we can. I imagine anything that might still be down here will be hungry and pissed off.” Malakili and Pateesa the rancor might be gone, but that wasn’t the only beast that Jabba had kept here.
Backtracking to the turn that Din had noticed earlier takes them in generally the right direction, but they are once again stymied, this time by a locked triple-thick durasteel door that won’t open no matter their shoving or even Boba’s stolen key probe. The door is shut tight, and the lock is frozen.
Din tugs his blaster from the holster again, but Boba is quicker, unclipping one of the more unusual items he has attached to his belt.
The neon green glow of the lightsaber fills the space instantly, so sharp it’s almost blinding. Din takes a step back from him, jerking his head down.
“Where did you get a laser sword?” Din asks.
Boba turns and sinks the blade into the lock mechanism until the steel is boiling hot and hissing.
“I’ve got all kinds of fun toys.” Boba tugs the blade free once the lock is reduced to a smoldering hole, shoving into the door with his shoulder until it creaks open. Din doesn’t press him, and Boba finds himself relieved. He hadn’t gotten this saber through violent means—he had literally stumbled across it in his travels and kept it—but he has others.
Shaking off the memories, Boba holds his arm out to light the room, gazing around in the yellow-green light from the saber.
There are crates in here too, though the dust on them is thick. Even through his helmet, Boba can tell that the air in here is even staler than in the corridor they had just passed through. No one has been in here in a long while.
Boba traces the walls and manages to find some promising piping, double-checking his schematics. If they eep going like this he will have a far more complete map of the structural underbelly of the palace.
The sound of splintering wood has Boba turning just in time to see Din craned over a large crate, head and shoulders already inside the hole he’s created.
When Din resurfaces, he’s holding two things: a dark-painted pauldron and a mask. He balances the pauldron carefully on the corner of the crate and turns the mask over in his hands.
Creeping closer, Boba examines the cracked and splintered object. It looks vaguely Mandalorian, but it’s not made of beskar or durasteel alloy. He suspects it to be pale plastoid, but upon closer inspection it looks like bone underneath flaking gold paint, the visor set into it shaped not unlike the style of his own Mandalorian one. Extending a hand, Din slowly offers it over, turning his attention to the pauldron instead, before reaching back into the crate.
There is aubresh printed on the side of the crate, but it lists nothing more than ‘spoils,’ which doesn’t clear anything up. Turning the mask over in his hands, Boba squints at the marks inscribed on its surface.
“Pretty sure you should hold onto this.” Boba can’t be sure what the markings signify, but they ring familiar in the back of his head. With a little digging, he’s sure that they will come back to him. Or maybe Din has an idea, too, given his interest in it. Maybe it has a Mandalorian history. If it’s important, Din will tell him. Or maybe Din is as perplexed by it as him. Without further explanation, Boba hands the mask back and drops another pin on this room. When he’s bored or looking to avoid more spa datawork like the kind sprawled across Fennec’s desk, maybe he’ll go through and catalogue what’s in these crates. But not today.
Din places the pauldron back into the crate slowly, but he appears reluctant in doing so, his fingers flexing and his gaze sticking to the aubresh sketched onto the side.
Boba reaches out to bump his shoulder. “We can grab it when we come by again.”
Giving him a stiff nod, Din turns his attention further down the corridor. Keeping the saber lit, Boba leads the way down, following the path of the pipes rather than his schematic.
With Din sticking close to his heels, they descend further down the sloping passage. Even through his armor and underlayers, Boba can feel the chill seeping in. They’re deep underground now if the scorching heat of the twin suns can’t reach them anymore. The pipes weave in and out, and with the input on his helmet turned up, Boba can hear the distant drip of water.
“I think we’re getting close.” Boba tips his head, and they round a wide bend, Boba following the curling pipes in their paths along the ceiling.
Abruptly, the ground beneath Boba’s feet is no longer there. He stumbles, scrambling, and gasps when Din’s hand digs into the cowl of his robes and yanks him back. They land in a sprawling pile, the light from the saber cutting out abruptly, and it takes a long moment for Boba to swallow his heart again from where it had leapt into his throat.
“Should I make a joke about you almost walking right off the edge of a cliff?” Din feels much closer in the dark, his hand on Boba’s arm.
“Clearly nothing will stop you.” Boba growls, glad that his helmet is hiding the embarrassment coloring his cheeks. Disentangling them and brushing the dust from his robes, he straightens again.
Reigniting the lightsaber, Boba peers down over the sudden drop, swallowing back the vertigo that threatens to overcome him. It’s not the heights, it’s the endless dark drop. Turning from the pit, Boba tugs a flash-beacon from his utility belt, ignites it, and pitches it down into the inky blackness. Din stares down beside him. The beacon falls for a long time, but not quite as long as Boba had suspected, before landing with a delayed clatter.
“You didn’t bring your jetpack, did you?” Boba glances at Din beside him, who only shrugs at him. “Think your grappling hook is long enough?”
“It’s not a grappling hook.” Din huffs, but peers over the edge anyway, then reaches down to start unspooling the cable. “Don’t know if it’s strong enough to hold us both.”
“I’ll let you go first. If I’m right, I think I know what this is. There should be another door somewhere.”
“If you’re wrong? I don’t want to get stuck down here.” Din doesn’t stop fixing the barbed end of the hook around one of the sturdier-looking stalagmites that peppers the mouth of the opening.
“Someone will come find us. Fennec isn’t going to let me get out of work that easily.”
After tugging on the cable until he seemed satisfied, Din wraps a length around his hand in a complicated knot to let him control his fall and settles with the edges of his boots keeping him up. He fixes Boba with a stare.
“If you leave me down here—”
“Just go, before I push you.”
Din drops down with a little hop, and Boba’s heart leaps into his throat again, but as he peers down, Din slowly descends the side of the cavern.
The cable is, in fact, not quite long enough, but Din disconnects it and drops the couple feet down to the cavern floor, raising a hand to wave at Boba.
It’s not the most ridiculous thing that Boba has been forced to rappel down on, but he isn’t so sure he trusts his prosthetic knee to steady him with the drop at the bottom. Wrapping the cable around his hand, Boba braces himself on the edge for a moment before using it to walk down the wall. His descent isn’t as quick as Din’s had been, but if he slips the cable won’t catch him.
Once Boba reaches the end of the cord, he allows himself another breath before he lets go. To his surprise he isn’t met with free air, but instead lands squarely in Din’s arms. Din catches him with only a small noise, wobbling but not dropping him. He lets Boba go as soon as his feet are on the ground, but Boba still sputters out an embarrassing noise in surprise.
“I had it.” Is what Boba ends up biting out, if only to cover up his embarrassment.
“I know,” Din replies, moving away from him. “Find us the door.”
Spared from having to dwell on the awkwardness any longer, Boba turns to regard the room, unclipping the lightsaber from his belt and reigniting it again to get a better sense of the space around them.
It is what he had suspected. He has heard that Jabba had dug out a spice factory down here, but not exactly where. It looks like production had simply been abandoned halfway through, work tools and chemicals left on workbenches and empty vats tipped over and left dry.
It makes Boba’s skin crawl. Spice is one thing he has always and will always find distasteful, and he has never dealt in it. The urge to blow the operation sky high with the detonators on his belt has him rubbing his thumb over one of the charges.
Din is trying to retrieve his fibercord, and is forced to hop and try to grab it where it hangs just outside his reach. He misses twice before managing to grab onto it, planting one foot on the wall and whipping the cord hard. It releases from the edge, and he falls gracelessly to the dirt on his backside with a grunt, the cord curling around him.
“I think I found our water problem.” Boba has crossed the room, peering at a complex mass of pipes and machinery. “Looks like this thing has been leaking. They must have used it to mix chemicals.”
“You knew there was a spice operation down here?” Din has appeared beside him again, and is also examining the pipes.
“I heard rumors. I don’t imbibe much.” Boba isn’t going to explain further, and thankfully Din again doesn’t press him. Boba is perfectly happy sharing a drink with Fennec, and that’s about as adventurous as he gets anymore. He’d rather keep his wits about him.
“If we shut off the water down here, will it fix the problem?” Din turns his gaze up, following the pipes.
“It can’t hurt.” Boba follows the curling pipes to a wide juncture, then down and back across the room. “There has to be a master shut-off somewhere.”
“Mmm.” Din sets off in the other direction, and between the two of them they scour the walls until Boba finds what looks promisingly like a shutoff valve.
It takes both of them to turn the rusted crank, but the distant drip that Boba had been hearing slowly cuts off.
“That was rather unceremonious.” Boba turns to take in the room again, “Did you find a way out of here?”
Din nods, and leads him to the far side of the room, stopping in front of a grate in the wall. Oh, an elevator.
“We could have taken an elevator down here?” Boba snarls.
“It’s uh—” Din tugs the grate open and Boba’s heart drops. “More of a dumbwaiter.”
“You’re not claustrophobic are you?” Boba eyes the small space warily, trying to gauge if it is large enough for them both.
“No. Are you?” Din is already crawling inside, and Boba briefly considers simply staying down here to die.
Instead of dignifying him with an answer, Boba simply clips the saber back onto his belt and squirms his way inside. It’s taller than it is wide, and while there isn’t a lot of room, at least they can stand. Din’s helmet light is still on, so it isn’t oppressively dark. But there’s no comfortable way to stand without being pressed together from chest to thighs. It isn’t the proximity to Din that makes his neck burn—or maybe it is. What would Fennec say if she saw the two of them crammed in this tiny tin can?
“If Jabba wasn’t already dead, I would kill him,” Boba snarls again as Din reaches past his head to push the button to begin their ascent.
“Think light thoughts. I doubt this thing is rated for two,” Din says, and Boba winces.
The mechanism squeals with each rotation, but they do rise slowly and steadily. Mercifully, Din does not need to fill the silence with words, and Boba is focusing all his energy on trying to keep himself from feeling trapped. It’s easier to focus on the slow and steady sound of Din’s breathing and let himself drift without focusing on anything at all.
Boba has been more stable in the last few months than any other time he can remember in his life. Surprisingly, he has built up a little group that he can not only tolerate but...can actually enjoy spending time with. Well...Calrissian is still on thin ice. But it is...nice. There is no point in denying that truth. He has been serious about retiring, getting a chance to rest and having a moment of peace and relaxation in a life where he has been running forever from one thing or another.
The lift rattles and shudders.Boba hears Din’s breath catch followed by a soft sigh as the lift continues unimpeded.
Having Din down here with him is a comfort. It would be easy to be swallowed up by his own thoughts otherwise. It isn’t that Boba’s afraid to be down here—he’s been in far worse places—but it is rather reassuring to have someone watch his back. Cracking open his eyes, he can watch the way the rattling of the lift shifts the light over Din’s chestplate.
Din continues to be the one mystery here. Fennec, Boba can understand. She’s determined to stick as a thorn in Boba’s side after he put her guts back in. Even despite his demands, Calrissian makes a good addition to their team, and despite his unorthodox inclusion in the whole business he seems to have come to terms with things quickly. Din however, has no real reason to be here besides the fact that he has nothing better to do with his son off with the Jedi. Maybe that’s enough to make him part of their team, a matter of honor or gratefulness for their help... And they are a rather rag-tag team now. Boba hasn’t had a group around him in a long time, and he’d forgotten what it was like. He floats, a smile cracking his lips as he thinks of the things they’ve managed so far.
The temperature steadily climbs with them. It had been hard to tell just how cold it was down there, but goosebumps break across Boba’s skin after a few moments. At least they’re getting out of here.
“Any idea where this opens to?” Din finally breaks the silence, and Boba actually jumps in surprise, looking up at him. The lift shakes precariously. Even with the light on Din’s helmet illuminating the space, Boba can’t see much. Din is looking up, and Boba can almost make out a sliver of skin at the edge of his cowl.
“No. Maybe if we’re lucky it’s an express elevator to the throne room.”
He earns another small chuckle, but when Din looks down at him, Boba drops his gaze, finding it easier to close his eyes again.
It isn’t clear how long they stand there, and Boba does indeed find himself thinking light thoughts, like clouds and the weightless feeling of dropping into hyperspace. Maybe he’ll treat himself with a drink when this is over. Eventually the mechanism grinds to a halt, and Boba’s eyes pop open, reaching to turn the sensitivity down on his audio input. Shuffling around, Boba manages to squat down and tug the grate open, sighing gratefully when fresh air rushes up to meet them. There’s no elegant way to exit the lift. Shifting his weight, Boba manages to get his legs through the small door, and wiggles his way out, straightening up to look around.
Huh.
They’re in a confined space that looks like it was walled off at some point, but now possesses mostly dust and bits of sand and a few doors.
Din slides out of the elevator with much more grace than Boba had managed. He straightens, turning slowly in a circle and examining the room before striding forward and tugging open the closest door.
Wind whips up hard and Din stumbles slightly, cape whipping around his legs as more sand flits around the room. The doorway drops off into nothing, a void out the side of the castle. When Boba edges forward to peer past the frame he sees nothing but the expanse of the Dune Sea beyond them.
“Seems safe.” Din steps back and slams the door closed before turning his visor on Boba.
“Let’s see what’s behind door number two.” Boba shifts to the door across from them and tugs on it.
The door creaks open like a wailing bantha, and Din makes a strange noise that has Boba peeking around him.
It’s a bathhouse.
“You have got to be kidding me.” Boba edges around Din and steps into the dried-out pool in the center of the room, “There’s a second tub?”
Din looks around the room, turning on his heels to take in the whole space. “Do you think we’re in one of the towers?”
Stomping his way around the edge of the pool, Boba once again considers the detonators on his hip. This tub is small, minuscule compared to the one downstairs. Who would have used it? This place continues to be a madhouse, even after all his years spent here evidently he has no idea about the structure of the place. Another bath to clean, surely another job for him. He takes a deep breath.
“Why have another bath house up here? It makes no sense.” Boba asks instead of ranting, scowling and wracking his brain as to why anyone would bother.
“Was it for the spice operation?” Din kneels down by the edge of the pool, brushing his thumb across the edge of the stone and tilting his head.
“Don’t know, don’t much care. Maybe we can have meetings up here if the pipes work. I could use a private bath.” Boba refuses to be upset by the implications of this tub, or the additional work it will surely mean for him, feeling tired and worn out from their day’s adventures. “Let’s figure out how to get out of here.”
After another half hour of wandering around and encountering many locked doors, they descend a small staircase and emerge, surprisingly, into one of the alcoves in the kitchen. Y’gabba is elbow-deep mixing bread, and hardly looks up at them.
“Did you find the leak?” She asks, flicking her head to get her hair out of her face.
“I think so.” Boba glances at Din, who shrugs.
“There’s some fresh bread over there. Fennec asked for you when you came back.”
Boba snags the loaf off the rack, tearing it in half and offering it to Din, who trails after him.
“How did Fennec know we would end up in the kitchens?” Din cradles his bread carefully, picking at the crusty edge. Boba remembers the dust and dank from downstairs and wants to snap at him to at least remove his gloves, but simply screws up his mouth behind his helmet. A little dirt wouldn’t kill him, probably.
“Given long enough, I always end up in the kitchens.” Boba says after swallowing a chunk of warm bread.
His crack earns a huffed laugh from Din, who is still cradling his bread somewhat awkwardly. Maybe he wants to be left alone to eat it, but he’s still following Boba.
The secondary bath house is a surprise, but Boba is more interested in the things they found downstairs. Maybe some of those crates will have something good in them, in addition to the mask and pauldron Din found already. A few taps on his vambrace sends the pop-up holo map to Din’s private contact server.
Din pauses for a moment, no doubt seeing the notification of Boba’s ping.
“In case you want to check out those crates again,” Boba says. He adds, “I wouldn’t go down there alone though.”
“Maybe when I get bored of the public, I’ll hide downstairs.” Din’s tone is surprisingly fond, as if he’s suggesting he’d only get bored of other people, and Boba feels his ears burn.
“Thanks uh, for coming down with me.” Boba manages to get the words out without too much pain, and glances at Din beside him.
“You can pay me back with that armor, if it turns out to be real Mandalorian make.”
“It’s yours.” It’s no hardship on Boba’s end to give it up. He hadn’t even known it was here. It belongs to Din anyway.
Before Boba has to respond to Din’s thoughtful head tilt, they’re interrupted.
“Fett! You’re both alive!” Calrissian’s voice cuts through Boba’s thoughts, and he sighs. “I have some questions—“
“I’ve got to talk to Fennec first. Unless someone is dying.” Boba realizes when he glances back again that Din is gone, the strange buzzing feeling in his chest fading without the proximity. Huh. He tells himself he doesn’t need to examine that right now.
“Of course.” Calrissian matches his pace, “Did you find anything good?”
“Mmm,” Boba says in reply, ignoring the indignant whine that it gets him.
At least he and Din had made it through their excursion downstairs. There was more to explore down there...and with other things. Hopefully, Boba fixed the bath pressure problem when he turned the shutoff valve. First, he would talk to Fennec. And then he’d get that drink, maybe something with fruit in it.