The End of the Matter by Alan Dean Foster Read Free Book Online

one man. Boy, maybe. He was young, less than twenty for certain.” She grimaced. “I’m good at estimating such things. No taller than myself, dark skin, red hair . . .” She went on describing Flinx as best she could, from clothing to demeanor.
    When she had finished, the man handed her the metal bars, not throwing them at her feet, as her visitors did. Exhibiting an unnerving politeness, he murmured a startlingly gentle “Thank you” and turned to leave.
    “You’re not . . . going to kill us?” the woman wondered, still unable to comprehend her good fortune.
    For the second time the tall figure showed surprise. “You have been only a witness to unfortunate events you could not affect. You have done nothing detrimental to me or mine, and you have been helpful. We will not see you again, and this business will be concluded satisfactorily very soon now.” He closed the door behind him quietly.
    Stunned, the woman sat on the pillows and stared at the gleaming metal in her hands. She tried not to think about the promise of silence she had made to the youth as he fled from her rooms. But what could she have done? Money or not, she eventually would have told the Qwarm anything he wanted to know, voluntarily or—she shuddered—otherwise. And she had the child to think of.
    She managed a slight smile. At least she might have given the boy a chance, through one slight oversight on her part. She had told the Qwarm the truth when she said she had seen only one man. But she had failed to mention the small flying dragon that had slain one of the two dead ones. Let the Qwarm form their own conclusions from the state of the two corpses.
    The tall man had carried through on his other promises, so she assumed he had told the truth when he said he would never see her again. Nevertheless, after letting her frightened daughter out of the bathroom, she set about making preparations to find new lodgings. The money represented by the metal bars would permit them to leave Moth, and she was in a rush to do so.

 
     
    Chapter Three
     
     
     
    Administrative offices wove in and about one another like copulating squid. Though raised on Drallar, Flinx still had a terrible time trying to locate the offices he wanted.
    At first sight, minor bureaucrats were inclined to regard the persistent youth with contempt. Such bellicose thoughts, however, always brought a quivering, questioning little head out from beneath the folds of Flinx’s clothing. It was amazing how rapidly once-indifferent civil servants took an interest in Flinx’s problem. Helpful as they tried to be, he still found himself shunted from one department to the next. Planetary Resources bounced him down to Taxation, which kicked him up to Resources again.
    Finally he found himself in a small, dingy compartment occupied by a sixth-level bureaucrat in the King’s government. This lowly tape-twister was a tired, withered old man who had started life with great expectations, only to turn around one day and discover that he had become old. He sighed unencouragingly when Flinx once again explained his request.
    “We don’t have slave records here, boy.”
    “I know that, sir,” Flinx acknowledged, settling himself into a chair so ancient it was actually made of real wood instead of plastic. “But money changed hands not just between seller and buyer, but between seller and the government in the form of taxes. Slave sales still require more documentation than most today. I’m assuming that hasn’t changed in the past, oh, dozen years.”
    “Not that I know of, boy, not that I know of. Okay, we’ll give it a try. What do they call you, and what is the name of the one whose sale you wish to trace?”
    “I’m called Flinx. The name I wish to trace is Philip Lynx, and I have the exact date of the transaction.” The man noded when Flinx gave him the date.
    “Couldn’t do much without that,” he admitted. He rose and tottered to the wall behind him. It was lined