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

"A boy he is, tender he's not," she would reply. "Sharp he be, and not just for his age. I don't worry about him. I haven't the time, for one thing. No matter what happens to him, he's better off than he was under government care."
"He won't be better off if he ends up lying dead in a gutter somewhere," they warned her.
"He won't," she would reply confidently.
"You'll be sorry," they said. "You wait and see."
"I've been waiting and seeing going on ninety years" was her standard reply, "and I haven't been surprised yet. I don't expect this boy to break that record."
But she was wrong.
It was midafternoon. The morning mist had developed into a heavy rain. She was debating whether or not to send the boy out for some food or to wait. Half a dozen people were wandering through the shop, waiting for the down-pour to let up-an unusually large number for any day.
After a while, Flinx wandered over and tugged shyly at her billowing skirt. "Mother Mastiff?"
"What is it, boy? Don't bother me now." She turned back to the customer who was inspecting antique jewelry that graced a locked display case near the rear of the stall. It was rare that she sold a piece of the expensive stuff. When she did, the profit was considerable.
The boy persisted, and she snapped at him. "I told ye, Flinx, not now!"
"It's very important. Mother."
She let out a sigh of exasperation and looked apologetically at the outworlder. "Excuse me a moment, good sir. Children, ye know."
The man smiled absently, thoroughly engrossed in a necklace that shone with odd pieces of metal and worn wood.
"What is it, Flinx?" she demanded, upset with him. "This better be important. You know how I don't like to be disturbed when I'm in the middle of-" He interrupted her by pointing to the far end of the shop. "See that man over there?"
She looked up, past him. The man in question was bald and sported a well-trimmed beard and earrings. Instead of the light slickertic favored by the inhabitants of Moth, he wore a heavy offworld overcoat of black material. His features were slighter than his height warranted, and his mouth was almost delicate. Other than the earrings he showed no jewelry. His boots further marked him as an offworld visitor-they were relatively clean.
"I see him. What about him?"
"He's been stealing jewelry from the end case."
Mother Mastiff frowned. "Are you sure, boy?" Her tone was anxious. "He's an offworlder, and by the looks of him, a reasonably substantial one at that. If we accuse him falsely-"
"I'm positive, mother."
"You saw him steal?"
"No, I didn't exactly see him."
"Then what the devil"-she wondered in a low, accusatory voice-"are ye talking about?"
"Go look at the case," he urged her.
She hesitated, then shrugged mentally. "No harm in that, I expect." Now whatever had gotten into the boy? She strolled toward the case, affecting an air of unconcern. As she drew near, the outworlder turned and walked away, apparently unperturbed by her approach. He hardly acted like a nervous thief about to be caught in the act.
Then she was bending over the case. Sure enough, the lock had been professionally picked. At least four rings, among the most valuable items in her modest stock, were missing. She hesitated only briefly before glancing down at Flinx.
"You're positive it was him, ye say?"
He nodded energetically.
Mother Mastiff put two fingers to her lips and let out a piercing whistle. Almost instantly, a half-dozen neighboring shopkeepers appeared. Still the bald man showed no hint of panic, simply stared curiously, along with the others in the store at the abrupt arrivals. The rain continued to pelt the street. Mother Mastiff raised a hand, pointed directly at the bald man, and said, "Restrain that thief!"
The man's eyes widened in surprise, but he made no move toward retreat. Immediately, several angry shopkeepers had him firmly by the arms. At least two of them were armed.
"The bald man stood it for a moment or two, then angrily shook off his captors. His accent, when he spoke, marked him as a visitor from one of the softer worlds, like New Riviera or Centaurus B. "Now just a moment! What is going on here? I warn you, the next person who puts hands on me will suffer for it!"
"Don't threaten us, citizen," said Aljean, the accomplished clothier whose big shop dominated the far corner. "We'll settle this matter quick, and without the attention of police. We don't much like police on this street."
"I sympathize with you there," the man said, straightening his overcoat where he had been roughly handled. "I'm not especially fond of them myself." After a pause, he added in shock, "Surely that woman does not mean to imply that I -"
"That's what she's implyin', for sure," said one of the men flanking him. "If you've nothin' to fear, then you've no reason not to gift us a moment of your time."
"Certainly not. I don't see why-" The outworlder studied their expressions a moment, then shrugged. "Oh, well, if it will settle this foolishness."
"It'll settle it," another man said from behind a pistol.
"Very well. And I'll thank you to keep that weapon pointed away from me, please. Surely you don't need the succor of technology in addition to superior numbers?"
The shopkeeper hesitated and then turned the muzzle of his gun downward. But he did not put it away.
Mother Mastiff stared at the man for a moment, then looked expectantly down at Flinx. "Well? Did ye see where he put the rings?"
Flinx was gazing steadily at the bald man, those green eyes unwinking. "No, I didn't, Mother. But he took them. I'm sure of it."
"Right, then." Her attention went back to the offworlder. "Sir, I must ask ye to consent to a brief body search."
"This is most undignified," he complained. "I shall lodge a complaint with my tourist office."
"I'm sorry," she told him, "but if you've nothing to hide, it's best that we're assured of it."
"Oh, very well. Please hurry and get it over with. I have other places to go today. I'm on holiday, you know."
Acting uncertainly now, two of the men who had responded to Mother Mastiff's whistle searched the visitor. They did a thorough job of it, working him over with the experience of those who had dealt with thieves before. They searched everything from the lining of his overcoat to the heels of his boots. When they had finished, they gazed helplessly over at Mother Mastiff and shook their heads.
"Empty he is," they assured her. "Nothing on him."
"What's missing. Mother?" Aljean asked gently.
"Kill rings," she explained. "The only four kill rings in my stock. Took me years to accumulate them, and I wouldn't know how to go about replacing them. Search him again." She nodded at the bald man. "They're not very big and would be easy enough to hide."
They complied, paying particular attention this time to the thick metal belt buckle the man wore. It revealed a bidden compartment containing the man's credcard and little else. No rings.
When the second search proved equally fruitless, Mother Mastiff gazed sternly down at her charge. "Well, Flinx, what have ye to say for yourself?"
"He did take them, he did," the boy insisted, almost crying. "I know he did." He was still staring at the bald man. Suddenly, his eyes widened. "He swallowed them."