[Boba Fett] - 4(6)

The girl.

“I know you’re there,” he said. Suddenly, he was so angry he didn’t stop to think of what his father would do in a place like this - which would not have been what Boba did next.

Without looking around, he stuck his hand in front of him. Then he stepped forward.

Something soft brushed his leg. He moved away, thinking it was a piece of the dirty cloth in the doorway.

It wasn’t. Before he could blink, hands covered his eyes. Other hands grabbed him by the ankles, yanking him down.

“Hey - !”

“Not a word, stranger.”

He tensed, lifting his hand to strike out. Then he felt something cold against his throat.

A knife.

“If you move, you’re dead,” someone said in a low voice.

Boba took a deep breath, forcing his body to go limp. Hands patted him down, slid into his pocket, and closed around his book.

“Here’s something!”

Without thinking Boba started to yank it back. The icy blade pressed harder against his throat. Boba used every ounce of his will to remain motionless.

“What is it?” someone whispered.

“A book.”

The first someone made a scornful noise. “A book? Who needs a book? Get rid of it!”

“Give it to me!” Boba recognized the voice of the girl thief. “If you’d ever read a book, Murzz, you might have been able to grow a brain between your ears.”

He heard scuffling, then a muffled cry; then the girl’s voice again.

“Wow. Look at this!” This time she didn’t sound suspicious - just admiring. “Let’s see what else he’s got!”

More small hands checked his pockets, his cuffs, even the inside of his boots. They found nothing.

I could save you all a lot of trouble, thought Boba fiercely, if you’d let me go!

He stared at the blackness that surrounded him. He blinked. His eyes were starting to grow accustomed to the dark. He could just make out a shadowy form kneeling at his side - the person who held the blade to his throat. There were two - no, three - other, smaller figures moving around him.

None of them seemed to be the girl. He squinted, but he still couldn’t see her.

But he could hear her.

“Keep looking!” she commanded from the shadows. “Whoever this boy is, he’s got some interesting cargo. Very interesting.”

Small fingers danced across Boba’s cheeks, tapping his ears and then his mouth.

They’re looking for jewels, Boba thought. And gold teeth.

He lay motionless, waiting until one of the fingers thrust into his mouth. Then he bit down. Hard.

“Owwwww!”

Figures scampered away from him into the cavernous room. Boba grabbed the hand at his throat. He twisted it until he heard a groan, followed by the soft clatter of metal hitting the ground. Boba struck out blindly. He felt his hand smack into a small form that went sprawling. Boba scrambled to his feet, grabbing the person who’d fallen beside him.

“Ygabba, help!”

“Be quiet!” said Boba. He yanked the figure up again. Through the darkness he glimpsed a small, thin face, matchstick arms, and a wild frizz of black hair like smoke.

Just a kid. He was a lot smaller and younger than Boba, too.

Boba felt a stab of pity. But then he remembered the cold touch of the blade at his throat. He glanced down and saw a glint of silver near his foot. Still keeping a tight hold on the boy, Boba stooped and grabbed the blade. He glared into the shadows.

“Give me back my helmet,” he shouted. “Otherwise - “

“Otherwise what?”

It was the girl. By now he could see well enough to recognize her as she stepped toward him. She held up a small plasteel torch and switched it on. Bright white light flooded the room. Boba shaded his face. At his side the small boy writhed and tried to get free.

“You won’t hurt him,” the girl went on. She stared at Boba with eyes brilliant and piercing as the torchlight. “You’re not like us.”

You’re not like us. She made it sound like a dare. Boba glared back at her and said, “No, I’m not. I’m not a thief, for one.”

“Oh, no?” The girl gave him a cold smile. She held up the Mandalorian helmet - his helmet - and the book. His book. “Then how’d you get this? And this?”

Boba stared back at her just as coldly. “Those are mine.”

At his side the small boy began to whimper. Boba looked down at him. “Be quiet,” he whispered.

Boba looked at the blade in his own hand, and then at the girl. He saw a flicker of unease cross her thin face.

Unease? Or could it be fear?

Fear is your friend, if it is your enemy’s fear, his father used to say.

But the girl did not seem afraid of Boba. She continued to stare at him defiantly. He saw her gaze dart to the boy he held captive.