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

impression that he wasn’t boasting. “Keep it.” He turned and left the room, left an uncertain yet gratified human being staring after him.
     
    Flinx spent the night with Mother Mastiff, regaling her with tales of his trip to Earth. He detailed his visit to United Church headquarters on the island of Bali, told of his eventual discovery of who his natural mother was, and something of her death.
    He told a carefully edited story, for he left out his encounter with the daughter of Rashalleila Nuaman, who had turned out to be his half sister. Nor did he mention the Baron of the AAnn, Riidi WW, or Conda Challis, or that unfortunate merchant’s mysterious offspring, Mahnahmi—the girl with the angelic visage and wild talents. Most important, he left out any mention of his journey to Ulru-Ujurr and his commitment to educate the innocent geniuses who were the Ulru-Ujurrians themselves.
    Whether she could figure out that there was more to his tale, Flinx could not tell. With Mother Mastiff, one was never certain whether a lie had been believed or tolerated. In any case, she did not comment until he mentioned his intention of looking up the slave firm which had originally sold him.
    “I don’t know, boy,” she muttered. “Do you think it wise?”
    “Why not? All they can do is refuse to talk to me.”
    “It’s your state of mind that concerns me, Flinx. You’ve been throwing yourself into this search for a long while. I worry what you’ll do if this last trail dead-ends on you.”
    He did not look at her. “Let’s see what Arcadia Organics tells me, first.”
    She tapped the arm of the plush chair she sat in. “Better to leave yourself some hope. You’ll drain it too quickly.”
    Now he stared at her in surprise. “Mother Mastiff, what are you afraid of? Of what I might find?”
    “I haven’t stood in your way during this mad chase of yours, boy. You know that. Though I’d rather you spent your time looking for a fine young lady of wealth and form to settle down with.” She leaned forward out of the chair. “It’s only that I don’t like to see so much of you put into a wild-drizer chase. By your own admission, it has left you almost dead several times now.” Flinx wondered what she would say if he told her about the encounter with the two Qwarm he—and Pip—had killed this morning.
    “I’m sorry, Mother Mastiff. It seems this search is controlling me, not the other way around. I’ve
got
to know. My mother I found out about. Suppose . . . suppose my father is still alive?”
    “Oh, what of that!” she shouted angrily. “What would that mean? Would it change you any, boy? Would it affect your life?”
    Flinx started one reply, settled himself down, and switched to another. “I tell you what, Mother. If he’s a fine man of wealth and form, I’ll bring him back here, and maybe then I can finally get you to settle down.”
    She gaped at him momentarily, then broke into a robust cackling laugh which did not seem to die down until the last vestiges of daylight did. “All right, boy, you go,” she finally agreed, sniffing and blowing her nose. “But be certain you take that gargoyle with you.” She pointed to a far corner of the room, where Abalamahalamatandra was honking and rhyming steadily to himself. “I will not have that monster living in my house, and I certainly can’t keep him downstairs in the store. He’ll scare away customers.”
    “Who, Ab?” argued Flinx desperately. He had hoped to unload the helpless tag-along on Mother Mastiff. “What else can I do with him? I can’t let him follow me around.”
    “Why not?” she countered. “He seems happy enough doing so.”
    “I was thinking maybe you could take care of him for a while,” he pleaded. “Besides, Ab doesn’t frighten people; he makes them laugh.”
    “Maybe he makes you laugh,” she snorted, “maybe he makes others laugh.” She jabbed a leathery thumb at her bony sternum. “But he doesn’t make me laugh. I