For Love of Mother-Not - Alan Dean Foster [32]
No, he reminded himself, not quite true. The lockseal on the front door was dead. It would have taken half the thieves in Drallar to drag Mother Mastiff from her shop while it stood unsealed. He thought of thieves a second time, knowing he would not be staying here long. His mind full of dark and conflicting thoughts, he set about repairing the lock.
Chapter Six
“Pssst! Boy! Flinx-boy!”
Flinx moved the door aside slightly and gazed out into the darkness. The man speaking from the shadows operated a little shop two stalls up the side street from Mother Mastiff’s, where he made household items from the hard-woods that Moth grew in abundance. Flinx knew him well, and stepped out to confront, him.
“Hello, Arrapkha.” He tried to search the man’s face, but it was mostly hidden by the overhanging rim of his slickertic. He could feel nothing from the other man’s mind. A fine and wondrous Talent, he thought sarcastically to himself.
“What happened here? Did you see anything?”
“I shouldn’t be out like this.” Arrapkha turned to glance worriedly up the street to where it intersected the busy main avenue. “You know what people say in Drallar, Flinx-boy. The best business is minding one’s own.”
“No homilies now, friend,” Flinx said impatiently. “You’ve been neighbor to my mother for many years, and you’ve watched me grow up. Where is she?”
“I don’t know.” Arrapkha paused to gather his thoughts. Flinx held back his anxiety and tried to be patient with the man—Arrapkha was a little slow upstairs but a good soul.
“I was working at my lathe, feeling good with myself. I’d only just sold a pair of stools to a programmer from the Welter Inurb and was counting my good fortune when I thought I heard noises from your house.” He smiled faintly. “At first, I thought nothing of it, You know your mother. She can fly into a rage at any time over nothing in particular and make enough noise to bring complaints from the avenue stores.
“Anyhow, I finished turning a broya post—it will be a fine one, Flinx-boy, fashioned of number-six harpberry wood—”
“Yes, I’m sure,” Flinx said impatiently. “I’m sure it will be a fine display stand, as all your work is, but what about Mother Mastiff?”
“I’m getting to that, Flinx-boy,” Arrapkha said petulantly. “As I said, I finished the post, and since the noise continued, I grew curious. It seemed to be going on a long time even for your mother. So I put down my work for a moment and thought to come see what was going on. I mediate for your mother sometimes.
“When I was about halfway from my shop to yours, the noise stopped almost entirely. I was about to return home when I saw something. At least, I think I did.” He gestured toward the narrow gap that separated Mother Mastiff’s shop from the vacant shop adjoining hers.
“Through there I thought I saw figures moving quickly up the alley behind your home. I couldn’t be certain. The opening is small, it was raining at the time, and it’s dark back there. But I’m pretty sure I saw several figures.”
“How many?” Flinx demanded. “Two, three?”
“For sure, I couldn’t say,” Arrapkha confessed sadly. “I couldn’t even for certain tell if they were human or not. More than two, surely. Yet not a great number, though I could have missed seeing them all.
“Well, I came up to the door quickly then and buzzed. There was no answer, and it was quiet inside, and the door was locked, so I thought little more of it. There was no reason to connect shapes in the alleyway with your mother’s arguing. Remember, I only heard noise from the shop.
“As it grew dark I started to worry, and still the shop stayed closed. It’s not like Mother Mastiff to stay closed up all day. Still, her digestion is not what it used to be, and sometimes her liver gives her trouble. Too much bile. She could have been cursing her own insides.