For Love of Mother-Not (4 page)

“That’s no way to handle a boy of an age that tender,” they admonished her. “If you’re not careful, you’ll lose him. One night, he won’t come home from these solo forays.”

“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 downpour 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 hidden
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.”

“Swallowed—now just a minute,” the visitor began. “This is getting ugly. Am I to wait here, accused by a mischievous child?” He shook an angry finger at Flinx, who did not flinch or break his cold, green stare.

“He took them,” the boy repeated, “and swallowed them.”

“Did you see me take these rings?” the bald man demanded.

“No,” Flinx admitted, “I didn’t. But you took them. You know you did. They’re inside you.”

“Charming, the experiences one has on the slumworlds,” the man said sarcastically. “Really, though, this exercise has ceased to be entertaining. I must go. My tour allots me only two days in this
wonderful
city, and I wouldn’t want to waste any more time observing quaint local customs. Out of the kindness of my nature, I will not call upon the gendarmes to arrest you all. One side, please.” He shoved past the uncertain shopkeepers and walked easily out into the rain.

Mother Mastiff eyed the man’s retreating back. Her friends and fellow merchants watched her expectantly, helplessly. She looked down at the boy. Flinx had stopped crying. His voice was calm and unemotional as he gazed back up at her.

“He took them, Mother, and he’s walking away with them
right now.”

She could not explain what motivated her as she calmly told Aljean, “Call a gendarme, then.”

The bald man heard that, stopped, and turned back to face them through the now gentle rain. “Really, old woman, if you think I’m going to wait—”

“Aljean,” Mother Mastiff said, “Cheneth?” The two shopkeepers
exchanged a glance, then jogged out to bring the bald man back—if false restraint charges were filed, they would be against Mother Mastiff and not them.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Cheneth, the candy man, said as he gestured with his pistol, “but we’re going to have to ask you to wait until the authorities arrive.”

“And then what? Are they going to haul a free citizen to the magistrate because a child demands it?”

“A simple body scan should be sufficient,” Mother Mastiff said as the three re-entered the shop. “Surely you’ve no reason to object to that?”

“Of course I’d object to it!” the visitor responded. “They have no reason or right to—”

“My, but you’re suddenly arguing a lot for someone with nothing to worry about,” Aljean, the clothier, observed. She was forty-two years old and had run her way through four husbands. She was very adept at spotting lies, and she was suddenly less convinced of this visitor’s innocence. “Of course, if perhaps you realize now that you’ve somehow made a bit of mistake and that we quaint locals aren’t quite the simpletons you believe us to be, and if you’d rather avoid the inconvenience of a scan, not to mention official attention, you’ll learn that we’re agreeably forgiving here if you’ll just return to Mother Mastiff what you’ve taken.”

“I haven’t taken a damn—” the bald man started to say.

“The jails of Drallar are very, very uncomfortable,” Aljean continued briskly. “Our government resents spending money on public needs. They especially scrimp when it comes to the comfort of wrongdoers. You being an offworlder now, I don’t think you’d take well to half a year of unfiltered underground dampness. Mold will sprout in your lungs, and your eyelids will mildew.”

All of a sudden, the man seemed to slump in on himself. He glared down at Flinx, who stared quietly back at him.

“I don’t know how the hell you saw me, boy. I swear, no one saw me! No one!”

“I’ll be blessed over,” Cheneth murmured, his jaw dropping
as he looked from the thief to the boy who had caught him. “Then you did take the rings!”

“Ay. Call off the authorities,” he said to Aljean “You’ve said it would be enough if I gave back the rings. I agree.”

Mother Mastiff nodded slowly. “I agree, also, provided that ye promise never to show your reflective crown in this part of this marketplace ever again.”

“My word on it, as a professional,” the man promised quickly. “I did not lie when I said that I was on holiday.” He gave them a twisted smile. “I like to make my holidays self-supporting.”

Mother Mastiff did not smile back. She held out a hand. “My kill rings, if ye please.”

The man’s smile twisted even further. “Soon enough. But first I will need certain edibles. There are several fruits which will suffice, or certain standard medications. I will also need clean cloths and disinfectant. The boy is right, you see. I did swallow them. Provide what I need and in an hour or so you will have your cursed rings back.”

And forty minutes later she did.

After the thief and the little group of admiring shopkeepers had gone their respective ways, Mother Mastiff took her charge aside and confronted him with the question no one else had thought to ask.

“Now, boy, ye say ye didn’t see him swallow the rings?”

“No, I didn’t, Mother.” Now that the crowd had dispersed and he had been vindicated, his shyness returned.

“Then how the ringap did ye know?”

Flinx hesitated.

“Come now, boy, out with it. Ye can tell me,” she said in a coaxing tone. “I’m your mother now, remember. The only one you’ve got. I’ve been fair and straightforward with ye. Now ’tis your turn to do the same with me.”

“You’re sure?” He was fighting with himself, she saw. “You’re sure you’re not just being nice to me to fool me? You’re not one of the bad people?”

That was a funny thing for him to bring up, she thought.
“Of course I’m not one of them. Do I look like a bad people?”

“N-n-no,” he admitted. “But it’s hard to tell, sometimes.”

“You’ve lived with me for some time now, boy. Ye know me better than that.” Her voice became gentle again. “Come now. Fair is fair. So stop lying to me by insisting you didn’t see him swallow those rings.”

“I didn’t,” he said belligerently, “and I’m not lying. The man was—he was starting to walk away from the case, and he was uncomfortable. He was, he felt—what’s the word? He felt guilty.”

“Now how do ye know that?”

“Because,” he murmured, not looking at her but staring out at the street where strange people scurried back and forth in the returning mist, “because I felt it.” He put his small hand to his forehead and rubbed gently. “Here.”

Great Ganwrath of the Flood, Mother Mastiff thought sharply. The boy’s a Talent. “You mean,” she asked again, “you read his mind?”

“No,” he corrected her. “It’s not like that. It’s just—it’s a feeling I get sometimes.”

“Do ye get this feeling whenever ye look at someone who’s been guilty?”

“It’s not only guilty,” he explained, “it’s all kinds of feelings. People—it’s like a fire. You can feel heat from a fire.” She nodded slowly. “Well, I can feel certain things from people’s heads. Happiness or fear or hate and lots of other things I’m not sure about. Like when a man and a woman are together.”