“Well, the reality here is that we can finally nail this son of a—that we can nail Nuso Esva,” Fel amended hastily. “We’ve got him pinned, and there’s no place he can run. And we understand how he works.”
“True.” Thrawn smiled faintly. “More important, he understands how I work.”
“Hopefully, that will be enough,” Parck said.
Thrawn inclined his head. “We shall see.”
The sky still looked odd as Trevik left the palace at the half-darklight hour and set off down the gentle slope of the city hill and across the wide ring of Circling homes. Farther downslope, beyond the Circling ring, was the Midli area of the city where his own home was located.
The sky looked even stranger over the Circling area, he noted with interest as he walked. In places, it held the same strangely muted appearance as it did over the palace grounds. But in other, small places, the sky was as bright and blue as normal. He gazed at the wonder as he traveled, trying to figure out what it all meant.
Perhaps one of the Workers would know. They were the ones who built everything in the Red City. Trevik’s brother Jirvin was overseer of one of the Worker groups that created and serviced the city’s lighting equipment. Perhaps he would know what had happened to the sky.
A whiff of air stirred from beside him, bringing with it the scent of a Circling. Automatically, Trevik stepped to the side, out of the other’s path—
A hand closed around his arm. “Walk,” the Circling ordered quietly, steering Trevik off onto a different angle.
“Where do we go?” Trevik asked, fighting to keep up with the other’s longer stride. “My home is in a different—”
“Walk in silence,” the Circling said cutting him off.
They were well within the Midli circle when Trevik noticed that the sky had changed again. Now the areas of strangeness had become a patchwork of distinct circles, their edges almost touching, with proper sky in the gaps between them. Beyond the Midli area, Trevik could see that the strangeness ended completely across the wide expanse of Worker and Soldier homes.
He was still wondering at the sight when the Circling guided him to one of the Midli homes. The door opened as they approached, and with the Circling still urging him forward, Trevik stepped beneath the lintel.
There were three other Midlis awaiting them in the house’s sharing room. Two were strangers; the third—
Trevik gasped. “Jirvin?”
“Hello, my brother,” Jirvin of the Midli of the Seventh of the Red greeted him, his voice solemn. “Please forgive the manner of your coming. It was vital that we speak to you immediately.”
“You could have simply called me on the farspeak when I reached my house,” Trevik said.
“It was equally vital that we speak to you in a manner that the Storm-hairs could not overhear,” Jirvin said. “Please; seat yourself.”
For a long moment, Trevik thought about turning and walking out. But the Circling who had brought him here had planted himself beneath the lintel. With an unpleasant sensation twitching up his legs, Trevik slowly crossed to one of the couches and lowered himself gingerly onto it. “What is it you wish to say?” he asked.
He saw Jirvin brace himself. “We believe, my brother, that the Red City stands on the brink of destruction,” he said. “We believe that the Queen of the Red has been led by deceit into allying herself with Nuso Esva.”
“Impossible.” The word burst from Trevik’s mouth without conscious thought. “The Queen is all-knowing and capable of infinite depth of thought. No alien being could sway her mind to such an extent.”
“Nevertheless, we believe that such has indeed occurred,” Jirvin said. “We further believe that something must be done to prevent the imminent destruction of our city. Perhaps even our entire world.”
Trevik stared at him. “What exactly are you saying, my brother?” he asked carefully.
“I’m saying that the being Thrawn of the First of the Chiss of the Empire of the Hand is not the great enemy that Nuso Esva has named him,” Jirvin said. “We have spoken to one of the Stromma, who has revealed to us the true natures of Thrawn and Nuso Esva.”
“And?”
“And we”—Jirvin waved a hand to encompass the entire sharing room—“have thus chosen to join ourselves with our Stromma friends. With them, and with Thrawn.”
Furtively, Trevik looked again at the doorway. But the Circling was still standing beneath the lintel, blocking any chance of easy escape. “Why are you telling me all this?” he asked, turning back to his brother.
“Thrawn urgently needs information if we are to defeat Nuso Esva and free our Queen from his grasp,” Jirvin said. “You, my brother, are the only one who can obtain that information.”
“Impossible,” Trevik repeated, the word again escaping his mouth without thought. “I’m a loyal Midli. More than that, I’m the Queen’s own bowlcarrier.”
“You’ve been bowlcarrier for a single day,” one of the other Midlis scoffed. “Don’t make it sound as if your entire past and family honor are at risk.”
“My past may not be at risk, but my family honor surely is,” Trevik insisted. “Regardless, I cannot betray my Queen in such a way.”
“She is no longer your Queen,” the Circling at the door rumbled. “She has become merely a hand tool of Nuso Esva.”
“I cannot and will not believe that,” Trevik shot back. “The Queen seeks only what is best for her people, and for all the people of Quethold.” He leveled two fingers at the Circling. “It is this Thrawn who is the enemy. I have heard Nuso Esva say so.”
“Have you heard the Queen herself say so?” Jirvin asked.
Trevik turned back to him, a quick and scathing response boiling up from within him.
Then he paused, the words unspoken. Had the Queen actually said such words in his presence? Now that he thought about it, he couldn’t remember her doing so. “It doesn’t matter,” he said stubbornly. “Nuso Esva is here, and he is the Queen’s guest.”
“He is her captor, not her guest,” the Circling said. “You would serve the Queen better by allying yourself with us than by standing idly by as he exploits her.”
“You’ve offered no proof of that,” Trevik insisted.
“You’ve offered no proof to the contrary.”
Trevik hissed. “Your challenge is useless. How does one prove a negative?”
“By taking the holocam our Stromma friends have given us,” Jirvin said, his voice low and earnest. “By taking pictures of the Queen, and of Nuso Esva, and of the artwork with which he has decorated the Dwelling of Guests, so that we may learn the truth.”
Trevik blinked. “The artwork?”
“Thrawn is able to read the hidden hearts of people through their choice of artwork,” Jirvin said. “Or so the Stromma claims.”
“The pictures will also prove that the Queen is with Nuso Esva of her own free will,” the Circling added. “If, indeed, she is.”
“If she allies herself freely with him, then we shall cease our efforts here,” Jirvin assured Trevik. “Like you, my brother, we seek only what is best for our Queen, our city, and our world.”
Trevik lowered his gaze to the floor. The Queen had accepted Nuso Esva as her guest—he was sure of it. But there was no way to prove that to Jirvin and the others except by doing what they asked. “Very well,” he said, the words stinging his throat. “Where is this holocam?”
Jirvin rose from his couch and pulled a small, flat object from one of his vest pockets. “Here,” he said, laying it across Trevik’s hand.
Trevik frowned. The device was smaller than even the smallest of his fingers. “This is a cam?”
“It is,” Jirvin confirmed. “You’ll note it has the same texture and color pattern as your official bowlcarrier vest. Once secured there, it will be invisible to even the most strong-eyed observer.”