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

"He never stays out through morning when he takes a solo night flight. Never."
"Always a first time, even for monsters," Mother Mastiff said, shrugging and concentrating on her cooking. "Wouldn't upset me if the little nastiness never did come back."
"Shame on you. Mother!" Flinx said, his tone agonized. "He saved my life, and probably yours, too."
"So I'm an ungrateful old Yax'm," she snorted. "Ye know my feelings toward your beast."
Flinx finished inspecting her room, then resolutely stormed back to his own and began dressing. "I'm going out to look for him."
Mother Mastiff frowned. "Breakfast ready soon. Why bother yourself, boy? Likely it'll be back soon enough, more's the pity. Besides, if it has got its slimy little self stuck someplace, you're not likely to find him."
"He could just be in the alley behind the shop," Flinx argued, "and I can hear him even when I can't see him." "Suit yourself, boy."
"And don't wait breakfast on me."
"Think I'll starve meself on your account? Much less on account of some devil-wing." She had long ago given up arguing with him. When he made up his mind about some- thing-well, one might as well wish for the planet's rings to be completed. He was a dutiful-enough son in most ways, but he simply refused to be restricted.
"It'll be here when ye get back," she said softly, checking the containers and lowering their ambient temperatures fifty degrees. "Ye can warm it up for your shiftless self."
"Thanks, Mother." Despite her contorting attempt to avoid him, he managed to plant a hurried kiss on one leathery cheek. She wiped at it, but not hard, as she watched him dash from the shop.
For an instant, she thought of telling him about what she had learned days ago up in the forest. About those strange Meliorare people and their intentions toward him. Then she shrugged the idea off. No, they were well clear of the horrid folk, and from the glimpse she had of their camp, they would not be bothering her boy ever again.
As to what she had learned of his history, it would be better to keep that secret for a few years yet. Knowing his stubborn impulsiveness, such information might send him running off in all sorts of dangerous directions. Much better not to say anything for a while. When he reached a reasonable age, twentythree or so, she could let on what she had learned about his background. By then, he would have taken over management of the shop, perhaps married. Settled down some to a nice, sensible, quiet life.
She tasted the large pot, winced. Too little saxifrage. She reached for a small shaker.
"Pip! To me, boy!" Still no blue and pink flash enlivening the sky, still no rising hum. Now where would he get to? Flinx mused. He knew the minidrag was fond of the alley behind the shop. That was where he had first encountered the flying snake, after all, and to a snake's way of thinking, the alley was usually full of interesting things to .eat. For all the minidrag's aerial agility, a box tumbling from the crest of a garbage heap or a rolling container could easily pin it to the ground. Flinx knew that no stranger was likely to get within ten meters of a trapped snake.
Might as well try the first, he decided. Slipping down the narrow space separating Mother Mastiff's shop from the vacant structure next to it, he soon found himself in the alley-way. It was damp and dark, its overall aspect dismal as usual.
He cupped his hands to his mouth, called out, "Pip?"
"Over here, boy," said a soft voice.
Flinx tensed, but his hand did not grab for the knife concealed in his boot. Too early. A glance showed that his retreat streetward was still unblocked, as was the section of alley behind him. Nor did the individual standing motionless beneath the archway in front of him look particularly threatening.
Flinx stood his ground and debated with himself, then finally asked, "If you know where my pet is, you can tell me just as easily from where you're standing, and I can hear you plainly from where I'm standing."
"I know where your pet is," the man admitted. His hair was entirely gray, Flinx noted. "I'll take you to it right now, if you wish."
Flinx stalled. "Is he all right? He hasn't gotten himself into some kind of trouble?"
The little man shook his head and smiled pleasantly. "No, he isn't in trouble, and he's just fine. He's sleeping, in fact."
"Then why can't you bring him out?" Flinx inquired. He continued to hold his position, ready to charge the man or race for the street as the situation dictated.
"Because I can't," the man said. "Really, I can't. I'm just following orders, you know."
"Whose orders?" Flinx asked suspiciously. Suddenly, events were becoming complicated again. The speaker's age and attitude abruptly impacted on him. "Are you with the people who abducted my mother? Because if you're trying to get revenge on her for whatever she was involved in years ago by harming me, it's not going to work."
"Take it easy, now," the man said. A voice Flinx could not hear whispered to the speaker from behind the door.
"For heaven's sake, Anders, don't get him excited!"
"I'm trying not to," the elderly speaker replied through clenched teeth. To Flinx he said more loudly, "No one wants to harm you or your pet, boy. You can have my word on that even if you don't think it's worth anything. My friends and I mean you and your pet only well." He did not respond to Flinx's brief allusion to his adoptive mother's past.
"Then if you mean us only well," Flinx said, "you won't object if I take a minute to go and reassure-"
The speaker took a step forward. "There's no need to disturb your parent, boy. In a moment she'll have her shop open and the crowd will ensure her safety, if that's what you're concerned about. Why alarm her needlessly? We just want to talk to you. Besides," he added darkly, taking a calculated risk, "you don't have any choice but to listen to me. Not if you want to see your pet alive again."
"It's only a pet snake." Flinx affected an air of indifference he didn't feel. "What if I refuse to go with you? There are plenty of other pets to be had."
The speaker shook his head slowly, his tone maddeningly knowledgeable. "Not like this one. That flying snake's a part of you, isn't it?"
"How do you know that?" Flinx asked. "How do you know how I feel about him?"
"Because despite what you may think of me right now," the speaker said, feeling a little more confident, "I am wise in the ways of certain things. If you'll let me, I'll share that knowledge with you."
Flinx hesitated, torn between concern for Pip and a sense of foreboding that had nothing to do with his peculiar Talents. But the man was right: there was no choice. He wouldn't chance Pip's coming to harm even though he couldn't have said why.
"All right." He started toward the speaker. "I'll go with you. You'd better be telling the truth."
"About not wishing to harm you or your pet?" The smile grew wider. "I promise you that I am."
Try as he might, Flinx couldn't sense any inimical feelings emanating from the little man. Given the erratic nature of his abilities, that proved nothing-for all Flinx could tell, the man might be planning murder even as he stood there smiling. Up close, the speaker looked even less formidable. He was barely Flinx's height, and though not as ancient as Mother Mastiff, it was doubtful he would be much opposition in a hand-to-hand fight.
"This is my friend and associate Stanzel," the man said. An equally elderly woman stepped out of the shadows. She seemed tired but forced herself to stand straight and look determined.
"I don't want to hurt you, either, boy." She studied him with unabashed curiosity. "None of us do."
"So there are still more of you," Flinx murmured in confusion. "I don't understand all this. Why do you have to keep persecuting Mother Mastiff and me? And now Pip, too? Why?"
"Everthing will be explained to you," the woman assured him, "if you'll just come with us." She gestured up the alley.
Flinx strode along between them, noting as he did so that neither of them appeared to be armed. That was a good sign but a puzzling one. His stiletto felt cold against his calf. He looked longingly back toward the shop. If only he could have told Mother Mastiff! But, he reminded himself, as long as he returned by bedtime, she wouldn't worry herself. She was used to his taking off on unannounced explorations.
"Mark me words," she would declaim repeatedly, "that curiosity of yours will be the death of ye!"
If it didn't involve striking against Mother Mastiff, though, then what did these people want with him? It was important to them, very important. If not, they wouldn't have risked an encounter with his deadly pet. Despite their age, he still feared them, if only for the fact that they had apparently managed to capture Pip, a feat beyond the capabilities of most.
But something, an attitude perhaps, marked these people as different from the usual run-of-the-mill marketplace cutthroats. They were different from any people he had ever encountered. Their coolness and indifference combined with their calm professionalism to frighten him.
"They alley opened onto a side street, where an aircar waited. The old man unlocked it and gestured for him to enter. As Flinx started to step into the little cab, he experienced one of those mysterious, unannounced bursts of emotional insight. It was brief, so brief he was unsure he had actually felt it. It wiped out his own fear, leaving him more confused and uncertain than ever.
He might be afraid for Pip and perhaps even a little for himself, but for some unknown reason, these two outwardly relaxed, supremely confident individuals were utterly terrified of him!