"Alan Dean Foster - Flinx 3 - Orphan Star" - читать интересную книгу автора (Foster Alan Dean)

threatening fist abruptly frozen in midair. His face rapidly turned pale and his eyes seemed fixed
on Flinx's far shoulder.
A head had somehow emerged from beneath the loose folds of the youth's cape. Now it regarded the
merchant with a steady, unblinking gaze that held the quality of otherworld death, the flavor of
frozen methane and frostbite. In itself the skull was tiny and unimpressive, scaled and
unabashedly reptilian. Then more of the creature emerged, revealing that the head was attached to
a long cylindrical body. A set of pleated membranous wings opened, beat lazily at the air.
"Sorry," the merchant found himself mumbling, "it was all a mistake ... my fault, really." He
smiled sickly, looked from left to right. The eyes of the small gathering stared back
dispassionately.
It was interesting how the man seemed to shrink into the wall of watchers. They swallowed him up
as neat and clean as a grouper would an ambling angelfish. That done, the motionless ranks blended
back into the moving stream of humanity.


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Flinx relaxed and reached up to scratch the flying snake under its leathery snout. "Easy there,
Pip," he whispered, thinking warm relaxing thoughts at his pet. "It's nothing, settle down now."
Reassured, the minidrag hissed sibilantly and slid back beneath the cape folds, its pleated wings
collapsing flat against its body. The merchant had quickly recognized the reptile. A well-traveled
individual, he knew that there was no known antidote for the poison of the Alaspin miniature
dragon.
"Maybe he learned whatever lesson he had in mind to give us," Flinx said. "What say we go over to
Small Symm's for a beer and some pretzels for you. Would you like that, summm?"
The snake summmed back at him.
Nearby buried within the mob, an obese, unlovely gentleman thanked a gratified goldsmith as he
pocketed a purchase indifferently made. This transaction had served the purpose of occupying time
and covering up his true focus of attention, which had not been the just-bought bauble.
Two men flanked him. One was short and sleek, with an expression like a wet weasel. The other
showed a torso like a galvanized boiler, and half a face. His one eye twitched persistently as he
stared after the retreating figure of Flinx, while his small companion eagerly addressed the
purchaser of the tiny gold-and- pearl piano.
"Did you see the look on that guy's face, Challis?" he asked the plump man. "That snake's a hot
death. Nothin' was said to us about anything like that. That big idiot not only saved his own
life, but mine and Nanger's too."
The one-eye nodded.
"Ya, you're goin' to have to find someone else for this bit of dirty stuff." His short companion
looked adamant.
The fat merchant remained calm, scratched' at one of his many chins. "Have I been ungenerous?
Since yon both ape on permanent retainer to me, I technically owe you nothing for this task." He
shrugged. "But if it is a question of more money ..."
The sleek weasel shook his head. "You can buy my service, Challis, but not my life. Do you know
what happens if that snake's venom bits you in the eyes? No antivenom known will keep you alive
for more than sixty seconds." He kicked at the gravel and dirt underfoot, still moist from the
regular morning ram. "No, this isn't for me and not for Nanger neither."
"Indeed," the .man with half a face agreed solemnly. He sniffed and nodded in the direction of the
now de- parted youth. "What's your obsession with the boy, anyway? He's not strong, he's not rich,
and he's not particularly pretty."