"Alan Dean Foster - Flinx 4 - End of the Matter" - читать интересную книгу автора (Foster Alan Dean)

odd movement of something under the right side of his rain cape indicated anything out of the
ordinary, but the object-whatever it was- was too well concealed to be identified.
"... and if there's nothing better yon can say," the old woman was raving on, "then you'd better-"
"Excuse me," a quiet voice interrupted. "I'd say tbirty-five credits for that bracelet is a fair
price."
Mouth agape in puzzlement, the young husband stared, uncomprehending, at the slim youth, and
wondered why a native should interfere on his behalf. The old vendor turned a furious gaze on the
brazen interloper.
"I don't know who you are, sir," she rumbled dangerously, "but if you don't mind your own business
I'll-" She stopped in mid-sentence, her mouth frozen in an 0 of shock,
"You'll do what, old woman?" the youngster asked. "Send me to bed without supper?" Sensing an.
advantage without knowing its origin, the dazed bracelet-buyer was quick to act. "Thirty-five


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credits is really a fair price, as he says."
"Yes ... I ..." The old woman, appearing a little stunned herself, hardly seemed to hear the
offer. "Thirty-five, then, and be done with it."
"You're certain?" The outworlder, now sure of his purchase, was anxious to ingratiate himself with
the seller. Since he was a good deal bigger than the new arrival, he took a step forward. "If this
boy is intimidating you. I'd be glad to ..."
Something moved and partially emerged from cape folds. It was leathery, thin, and brightly
colored. Without actually recognizing the object, the outworld tourist nonetheless had an
immediate impression of serpentine lethality. His hand proffered his credit slip instead of
closing into a fist.
"Here's your money, then."
Mesmerized by the caped figure, the old woman mechanically processed the credit slip through her
cardmeter; she handed it back to the buyer without even troubling to check the reference number.
"The bracelet," the young visitor urged impatiently.
"Hrnmm? Oh, yes." She handed it over. Flushed with pleasure at his imagined bargain, the tall
tourist vanished into the milling crowd of humans and aliens.
Slowly the old woman studied the unimposing figure standing before her. Then she abruptly threw
thin but still muscular arms around him and squeezed tightly. "Flinx!" she shouted exuberantly.
"Flinx, boy, you've come home!" She shook the lanky youth out of sheer Joy, for the familiar feel
of him. Jostled, Pip the mini- drag shifted uncomfortably on Flinx's shoulder and attempted to
tolerate the roughhousing with fine reptilian indifference.
"For a little while, Mother Mastiff," the youth re- plied quietly. He grinned and nodded in the
direction of the departed outworlder. "I see you're having as much fun as ever."
"Fun!" she snorted derisively, making an obscene gesture in the general direction of the
marketplace into which her customer had disappeared. "Pathetic, most of them. They suck the
enjoyment from trading. Sometimes I wonder how the Commonwealth hangs together, with cement like
that." A triangular head flanked by eyes of fire peeked out from beneath the slickertic. The old
woman eyed it with evident distaste. "See you're still dragging that creature around with you."
Pip responded with a nasty hiss. There had never been any love lost between Mother Mastiff and the
minidrag.
"Many times I think it's Pip who drags me, Mother," the youth argued.
"Well, no matter perversions I can't cure you of, boy. At least you're here." She whacked him on
the left shoulder in mock anger. "Here you are ... you good-for-nothing, forgetful, heartless