"Foster, Alan Dean - Flinx 1 - For Love of Mother-Not" - читать интересную книгу автора (Foster Alan Dean)

"Be that your last name or your first?"
He shook his head slowly, his expression unhappy. "Mother, I don't know. It's what they called me."
"What 'they' called ye. Who be 'they'? Your"-she hesitated-"mother? Your father?'"
Again, the slow sad shake of the head, red curls dancing. "I don't have a mother or a father. It's what the people called me."
"What people?"
"The people who watched over me and the other children."
Now that was strange. She frowned. "Other children? Ye have brothers and sisters, then?"
"I don't"-he strained to remember-"I don't think so. Maybe they were. I don't know. They were just the other children. I remember them from the early time. It was a strange time."
"What was so strange about it?"
"I was happy."
She nodded once, as though she understood. "So. Ye remember an early time when you were happy and there were lots of other children living with you."
He nodded vigorously. "Boys and girls both. And we had everything we could want, everything we asked for. All kinds of good food and toys to play with and . . ."
A wealthy family brought to ruin, perhaps. She let him ramble on about the early time, the happy time, a while longer. What catastrophe had overtaken the boy in infancy?
"How big was this family?" she asked. "We'll call it your family for now. How many other boys and girls were there?"
"I don't remember exactly. Lots."
"Can you count?"
"Oh, sure," he said proudly. "Two, three, four, five, and lots more than that."
Sounded like more than just a family, though an extend-ed family could not be ruled out, she knew. "Do ye remember what happened to them, and to you? Ye were all happy, and ye had lots of friends, and then something happened."
"The bad people came," he whispered, his expression turning down. "Very bad people. They broke into where we lived. The people who watched us and fed us and gave us toys fought the bad people. There was lots of noise and guns going off and-and people fell down all around me. Good people and bad people both. I stood and cried until somebody picked me up and carried me away. They carried me down lots of halls and dark places, and I remember getting into some kind of a-car?"
She nodded approvingly. "Probably. Go on, boy."
"I was moved around a lot. That was the end of the happy time."
"What happened after that?" she prompted him.
"I'm not sure," he said slowly. "It's so hard to remember."
"I know 'tis painful for ye, Flinx. I need to know all about ye that I can, so I can help ye as best as I'm able."
"If I tell you," he asked uncertainly, "you won't let the bad people come and take me away?"
"No," she said, her voice suddenly soft. "No, I won't let them come and take ye away, Flinx. I won't let anyone come and take ye away. Ever. I promise ye that."
He moved a little nearer and sat down on the extended leg support of the big chair. He had his eyes closed as he concentrated.
"I remember never staying in one place for very long at a time. The people, the good people who took care of me and fed me, they kept the bad people away. They were al-ways upset about something, and they yelled at me a lot more than before."
"Were they mad at ye?"
"I don't think so. Not really." He licked his lips. "I think they were scared. Mother. I know I was, but I think they were, also. And then"-a look of confusion stole over his face-"I went to sleep. For a long time. Only, it wasn't really a sleep. It was like I was asleep and yet like I wasn't." He opened his eyes and looked up at her. "Do you understand that. Mother? I don't."
"No, I'm not sure I do, boy." Her mind worked. Now who, she wondered, would take the time and trouble to sedate a child for a long period of time? And why bother?
"Then some more bad people suddenly showed up, I think," he went on. "I didn't see them this time. But some of the people who watched me died or went away. Then there was just me and one man and one lady, and then they were gone, too."
"Your mother and father?"
"No, I don't think so," he told her. "Anyway, they never called themselves that. They were just two of the good people. Then some other people came and found me. People I'd never seen before. They took me away with them."
"Were they good people or bad people?"
"I don't think they were either," the boy replied care-fully. "I think they were kind of in-between people. I think maybe they were sorry for me. They tried to be nice, but"-he shrugged-"they were just in-between people. They moved me around a lot again, and there were different places and lots of new children I didn't know, and then there was yesterday, and you bought me. Right?"
She put a hand to her mouth and coughed. "I didn't buy ye, actually. I agreed to take responsibility for ye."
"But you paid the government money for me, didn't you? I was told that was what was going to happen to me."
"It was only to pay off the debt the government incurred for taking care of ye," she explained to him. "I don't actually own ye. I would never do that."
"Oh," he said quietly. "That's nice. I'm glad." He waited a moment, watching her, then added, "That's everything I can remember."
"Ye did fine." She leaned forward and pointed to her right, up the street. The chair groaned. "If ye walk six stalls that way, yell find a very small shop run by a mur man. His name be Cheneth. Go up to him and tell him who ye be and where ye came from. And ye can buy from him"-she thought a moment, not wishing to overdo things-"a half credit's worth of whatever ye see in his shop."
"What kind of shop is it?" he asked excitedly.
"Candy," she said, enjoying the light that came into his face. "Ye remember what candy is, don't ye? I can see by the expression on your face that ye do." She could also tell by the speed with which he took off up the street. He was back before long, those deep emerald eyes shining from his dark face. "Thank you. Mother."
"Go on, go on, move to one side! You're blocking my-our-view of the customers. Wander about, learn the ins and outs of where ye live now."
He vanished like a ray of sunshine, his red hair disappearing into the crowd.
Expensive, she thought to herself. That boy's going to be expensive to raise. How by the ringaps did I ever let myself fall into this? She grumbled silently for another several minutes until a potential customer appeared.

Flinx learned rapidly. He was undemonstrative, highly adaptable, and so quiet she hardly knew when he was around. Soon he was amazing her with his knowledge of the layout and workings of the marketplace and even the greater city beyond. He worked constantly on expanding his store of information, badgering shopkeepers with persistent questions, refusing to take "I don't know" for an answer.
Mother Mastiff put no restrictions on him. No one had ever told her it was improper to give an eight-year-old the run of a city as wild as Drallar. Never having raised a child before, she could always plead ignorance, and since he returned dutifully every night, unscathed and unharmed, she saw no reason to alter the practice despite the clucking disapproval of some of her neighbors.
"That's no way to handle a boy of an age that tender," they admonished her. "If you're not careful, youll lose him. One night, he won't come home from these solo forays."