For Love of Mother-Not - Alan Dean Foster [43]
“How long ago was this?” the man asked him. Arrapkha told him. “And the boy? What of the boy?”
“He returned home that same night. He often goes off by himself until quite late. At least he’s been doing so for as long as I’ve known him, which is most of his life.”
“Long solo walks through this city? At his age?” the woman asked. Arrapkha tried not to show his surprise at the woman’s seemingly casual remark. These people knew a great deal in spite of how far they had come from.
“He’s not your average youth,” Arrapkha informed them, seeing no harm in doing so. “He’s grown up largely on his own here.” He waved toward the brighter lights and the noise that drifted in from the main avenue. “If you let it, Drallar will mature you quickly.”
“I’m sure.” The man nodded. “You were saying about the boy?”
“He came back that night, saw what had happened, and was very upset. He’s an emotional type, though he fights not to show it, I think. Mother Mastiff is all he has.”
Still the couple did not respond, remaining maddeningly uninformative. Arrapkha went on. “He vowed to find her. I don’t think he has much chance.”
“He went after her, then?” the woman asked eagerly. “How long ago?”
Arrapkha told her. She muttered in some language that Arrapkha did not recognize, then added in the more familiar Commonwealth lingua franca to her companion, “Only a couple of days. We missed them by a lousy couple of days.”
“It’s happened before,” the man reminded her, seeming unperturbed. His attention returned to Arrapkha. “Which way did the boy intend to go?”
“I have no idea,” the shopkeeper said.
“You know,” the man said pleasantly, “maybe we just ought to all take that little jaunt downtown and visit the machine.”
“Please, sir, I tell you truly everything. You have believed my words until now. Why should it be different because the facts no longer please you? That is not my fault. What reason would I have for suddenly lying to you?”
“I don’t know,” the man said in a more conversational tone. “What reason would you?”
“No reason.” Arrapkha felt his few wits deserting him. “Please, I don’t understand what’s happening here. It’s all very confusing to me. What is all this interest suddenly in poor old Mother Mastiff and this Flinx-boy?”
“We’d only confuse you further by telling you, wouldn’t we?” the man said. “So you have no idea how the boy intended to begin his search?”
“None at all because that is all that he told me,” Arrapkha confessed. “He said only that he was determined to find her. Then he left”
“Well, that’s wonderful. That’s just wonderful,” the man declared sardonically. “All that work, all that research, and we get them narrowed down to one modest-size city. Now we get to start all over again with a whole damn world to cover.”
“It’s not that bad,” the woman soothed. “The native population is thin outside the city.”
“It’s not that which worries me.” The man sounded tired. “It’s our happy competitors.”
“I think we’ll run into them simultaneously.” The woman gestured at Arrapkha as if he weren’t there. “We’ve learned all we can from this one.”
“Yes. One more thing, though.” He turned to Arrapkha and handed him a small blue metal box. A single button marred its otherwise smooth, vitreous surface. “This is a sealed-beam, high-intensity, low-power transmitter,” he explained to the shopkeeper. “If either the woman or the boy should return here, all you have to do is push that button once. That will summon help, both for them and for you. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Arrapkha said slowly. He accepted the metal box, then turned it over in his hand and inspected it.
“There is a reward—a considerable reward,” the woman added, “for anyone who assists us in bringing this matter to a speedy and successful resolution.” She looked past him, into the little woodworking shop. “I don’t know what kind of a life you make for yourself here, but it can’t be much. This isn’t exactly the high-rent district. The reward would amount to more, much more, than you’re likely to clear in an entire year.”
“It sounds nice,” Arrapkha admitted slowly. “It