For Love of Mother-Not - Alan Dean Foster [97]
“Some people have long memories,” Arrapkha said, nodding knowingly. “Since you have returned well and safe, I presume that you made a peace with the people who kidnaped your mother?”
“We concluded the business,” Flinx said tersely.
They returned to the street, where Small Symm and Mother Mastiff waited to greet them.
“So it was you, Arrapkha. Ye ignorant fleurm, worrying us like that.” She smiled. “Never thought I’d be glad to see ye, though.”
“Nor I you,” the woodworker confessed. He gestured toward Flinx. “That boy of yours is as persistent as he is foolhardy. I did my best to try and convince him not to go rushing off after you.”
“I would have told him, the same,” she said, “and he would have ignored me, too. Headstrong, he be.” She allowed herself a look of pardonable pride. Flinx was simply embarrassed. “And fortunate it is for me.”
“Old acquaintances and bad business.” Arrapkha waggled an admonishing finger at her. “Beware of old acquaintances and bad business and deeds left unresolved.”
“Ah, yes.” She changed the subject. “Been watching the old place for me, eh? Then I’d best check the stock carefully as soon as we’re inside.” They both laughed.
“If you think it’s all right for me to leave,” Small Symm murmured. “Nakina has a bad temper, and that’s not good for business.”
Mother Mastiff looked thoughtful. “If our friend here insists he’s kept a close eye on the shop . . .”
“I’ve watched and watched,” Arrapkha insisted. “Unless they’ve tunneled in, no one’s gone inside since your boy left to look for you.”
“No tunneling under these streets,” she observed with a grin. “They’d hit the sewers.” She looked back up at their escort. “Thank ye, Symm. Ye can run back to your lovely den of iniquity.”
“It’s hardly that,” he replied modestly. “Someday if I work hard, perhaps.”
Flinx extended a hand, which vanished in the giant’s grasp. “My thanks, also, Symm.”
“No trouble. Glad to help.” The giant turned and lumbered away into the night.
The three friends moved to the front door. Mother Mastiff placed her right palm against the lock plate. It clicked immediately, and the door slid aside, admitting them. Flinx activated the lights, enabling them to see clearly that the stall area was apparently untouched. Stock remained where they had left it, gleaming and reassuringly familiar in the light.
“Looks to be the same as when I left,” Mother Mastiff observed gratefully.
“Looks to be the same as it did ten years ago.” Arrapkha shook his head slowly. “You don’t change much, Mother Mastiff, and neither does some of your stock. I think you’re too fond of certain pieces to sell them.”
“There be nothing I’m too fond of not to sell,” she shot back, “and my stock changes twice as fast as that pile of beetle-eaten garbage ye try to pass off on unsuspecting customers as handicrafts.”
“Please, no fighting,” Flinx implored them. “I’m tired of fighting.”
“Fighting?” Arrapkha said, looking surprised.
“We’re not fighting, boy,” Mother Mastiff told him. “Don’t ye know by now how old friends greet one another? By seeing who can top the other’s insults.” To show him that she meant what she said, she smiled fondly at Arrapkha. The woodworker wasn’t a bad sort at all. Only a little slow.
The living quarters they found likewise untouched: in total chaos, exactly as Flinx had last seen it.
“Housekeeping,” Mother Mastiff grumbled. “I’ve always hated housekeeping. Still, someone has to get this place cleaned up, and better me than ye, boy. Ye have no touch for domesticity, I fear.”
“Not tonight, Mother.” Flinx yawned. His initial sight of his own bed had expanded until it filled the whole room.
“No, not tonight, boy. I must confess to being just the slightest bit tired.” Flinx smiled to himself. She was on the verge of physical collapse, quite ready to go to sleep wherever her body might fall, but she was damned if she would show weakness in front of Arrapkha lest it damage her image of invincibility.
“Tomorrow we’ll put things to rights. I work better in the daytime, anyway.” She tried not to look toward her own