For Love of Mother-Not - Alan Dean Foster [37]
Outside the entrance to a small firm that manufactured wooden fittings for kitchen units, he encountered someone not going to work but leaving. “Excuse me, sir,” he said for what seemed like the hundred thousandth time, “did you by any chance see a group of people pass through this part of town last night? They would have had an upset old lady with them, perhaps restrained somehow.”
“Now that’s funny of you to mention,” the man said unexpectedly. “See, I’m the night guard at Koyunlu over there.” He gestured at the small building that was filling up with workers. “I didn’t see no old woman, but there was something of a commotion late last night over that way.” He pointed at the road which came to a dead end against the nearby trees.
“There was a lot of shouting and yelling and cursing. I took a look with my nightsight—that’s my job, you know—and I saw a bunch of people getting out of a rented city transport. They were switching over to a mudder.”
The watchman appeared sympathetic. “They weren’t potential thieves or young vandals, so I didn’t watch them for long. I don’t know if they were the people you’re looking for.”
Flinx thought a moment, then asked, “You say that you heard cursing. Could you tell if any of it was from a woman?”
The man grinned. “I see what you thinking, son. No, they were too far away. But I tell you this: someone in that bunch could swear like any dozen sewer riders.”
Flinx could barely contain his excitement “That’s them; that’s her! That’s got to be her!”
“In fact,” the watchman continued, “that’s really what made it stick in me mind. Not that you don’t see people switching transports at night—you do, even way out here. It’s just a bad time to go mudding into the woods, and when it is done, it’s usually done quietly. No need that I can see for all that yelling and shouting.”
“It was them, all right,” Flinx murmured decisively. “It was her swearing—or her kidnappers swearing at her.”
“Kidnap—” The man seemed to notice Flinx’s youth for the first time. “Say, son, maybe you’d better come along with me.”
“No, I can’t.” Flinx started to back up, smiling apologetically. “I have to go after them. I have to find her.”
“Just hold on a second there, son,” the watchman said. “I’ll give a call to the police. We can use the company coms. You want to do this right and proper so’s—”
“They won’t do anything,” Flinx said angrily. “I know them.” On an intimate basis, he could have added, since he’d been arrested for petty theft on more than one occasion. He was probably on their question-list right now. They would hold him and keep him from going after Mother Mastiff.
“You wait, son,” the watchman insisted. “I’m not going to be part of something—” As he spoke, he reached out a big hand. Something bright blue-green-pink hissed threateningly. A triangular head darted menacingly at the clutching hand. The man hastily drew it back.
“Damn,” he said, “that’s alive!”
“Very alive,” Flinx said, continuing to back away. “Thanks for your help, sir.” He turned and dashed toward the city.
“Boy, just a minute!” The watchman stared after the retreating figure. Then he shrugged. He was tired. It had been a long, dull night save for that one noisy bunch he’d seen, and he was anxious to be home and asleep. He sure as hell didn’t need trouble himself with the antics of some kid. Pushing the entire incident from his thoughts, he headed toward the company transport stop.
Once he was sure he was out of sight of the watchman, Flinx paused to catch his breath. At least he knew with some certainty that Mother Mastiff had been kidnapped and taken out of the city. Why she had been carried off into the great northern forest he could not imagine
In addition to the hurt at the back of his mind, a