As it was still comparatively early, not: all the lights had been extinguished in that part of the marketplace, but enough of the shops had closed to give Joppe hope. The nature of his work required privacy. He did not rush himself. Joppe had an instinctive feel for his work. He had to balance waiting for more shopkeepers to retire against the possibility of the couple’s realizing their error and turning back toward the more brightly lit sections of the market.
The couple did not seem inclined to do that. Joppe’s hopes continued to rise. He could hear them clearly, talking about some sight seen earlier in the day. Joppe’s hand closed around the handle of the little needier in his pocket, and he started forward, closing the distance between himself and his prey. By now the couple had reached the end of the cul-de-sac and had stopped in front of the last shop, which was shuttered and dark. They seemed to be debating something. Then the man bent to the shop’s door and took several objects from his pockets. He started manipulating something out of Joppe’s view.
The thief slowed, the needier only halfway out of his holster pocket, and stared in confusion. What were they up to? He moved a little nearer, still clinging to the shadows. He was close enough to see that the door was sealed with a palm lock, which required the imprint of all five of the shop owner’s fingers, in proper sequence, to release. The little black disk that the tourist had attached to the palm lock was a very expensive, sophisticated device for decoding and solving such locks. The man’s fingers roved over the keys, and he examined the readout with the attitude of someone who not only knew exactly what he was doing but who had done it frequently.
While the man worked at the door, his companion stood watching him, hands on hips, obviously intent on what he was doing. Abruptly, she glanced away from her husband, and Joppe found himself staring straight at her.
The matronly giggle she had affected all evening was abruptly gone from her voice. Suddenly, nothing about her seemed soft. The unexpected transformation, accomplished solely by a change in posture and tone, was shocking. “I’m sorry we had to waste your evening, friend, but we needed a good screen to keep away the rest of the rabble. Thanks for that. Now turn around, call it a bad day, and look elsewhere. We don’t have time for you right now. Oh, and leave that gun where it won’t do you or anyone else any harm, okay?” Then she smiled pleasantly.
Too startled to react, Joppe just stood there, his hand still clutching the needier. He could take this one, he thought momentarily. However, something in her stance held him back. The proximity of a weapon was clearly implied, as was the intent to use it. Her companion had paused in his work and crouched before the doorway in a waiting position.
This was all very wrong, Joppe thought. He was not an especially imaginative individual, but he was an intent observer, and he was good at putting things together.
Here stood an offworld couple dressed for an evening out, calmly working a lock decoder on an unprepossessing stall doorway at the end of a side street on a dark and damp night. That, plus the way the woman had spoken to him, did not add up
Joppe let go the needier and took his hand from his pocket. Slowly, his fingers spread so that they could see he held nothing in them. He nodded once, smiled a twisted,
fleeting smile at the woman, and backed away. She returned his smile. He backed away until the shadows engulfed him once again and he stood behind a protective stone wall. He sucked in a deep breath and let it out. His pulse was racing. Unable to restrain his curiosity, he turned and just peeked around the edge of the wall. The woman had not budged, and was still staring after him. The man had returned to his work.
Joppe was well out of his depth, and he knew it. Without another backward glance, he turned and jogged off toward the main avenue, disappointed with his luck and still hungry for a strike. As to the purpose of the peculiar couple, he gave it not another thought. Such folk operated on a level far above that of Joppe and his ilk and were better forgotten.
“Sensible, that one,” the woman said thoughtfully. She turned her attention from the distant street to her companion’s work. “I thought he might give us trouble.”
“Better that he didn’t,” her companion agreed. “We don’t need to fool with such silliness. Not now.” His fingertips danced lightly over the keys set into the black disk.
“How you coming?” the woman asked, peering over his shoulder.
“How does it look like I’m coming?”
“No need to be sarcastic,” she said easily.
“It’s an updated twenty-six,” he informed her. “I didn’t expect anyone in this slum would take the trouble and expense to keep updating something like this. Someone sure likes his privacy.”
“Don’t you?”
“Very funny.” Suddenly, the disk emitted a soft beep, and the numbers on the readout froze. “That’s got it.” The man’s tone was relaxed, methodical. There was no pleasure in his announcement, only a cool, professional satisfaction. He touched buttons set at five points spaced evenly around the black disk. It beeped again, twice. The illuminated numbers vanished from the readout. Unsealing the disk, he slid it back inside his coat. There were a number of pockets inside that coat, all filled with the kinds of things that would raise the hackles of any police chief. The man put a hand on the door and pushed. It moved aside easily. After a last, cursory glance up the narrow street, the two of them stepped inside.
The center section of the man’s ornate belt buckle promptly came to life, throwing a narrow but powerful beam of light. It was matched a moment later by a similar beam projected from his companion’s brooch. They wandered around the stall, noting the goods on display and occasionally sniffing disdainfully at various overpriced items. Inspection led them to an inner door and its simpler locking mechanism.
Both stood just inside the second doorway and gazed around the living area. “Someone put up a hell of fight,” the man commented softly.
“The boy—or his adoptive mother, do you think?” “The woman moved in, stooping to examine an overturned end table and the little silver vase that had tumbled from it. The vase was empty. She carefully replaced it where it had fallen.
“Maybe both of them.” Her companion was already inspecting the larger of the two bedrooms. They went through the area methodically: kitchen, bedrooms, even the hygiene facilities.
When they had finished—and it did not take them very long—and when fingerprinted samples of air and dust and tiny bits of hopefully significant detritus had been relegated to the safety of tiny storage vials, the man asked his companion, “What do you think? Wait for them here?”
The woman shook her head as she glanced around the kitchen-dining area. “They obviously left under duress—and you know what that suggests.”
“Sure, that’s occurred to me. No way it couldn’t. But there’s no guarantee.”
She laughed, once. “Yeah, there’s no guarantee, but what do you think?’
“The same as you. I’m just saying we shouldn’t jump to conclusions.”
“I know, I know. Isn’t it odd, though, that both of them are missing? That surely suggests something other than a common break-in.”
“I said I concurred.” The man’s tone was a mite testy. “What now?”
“The shopkeeper up the street who watched us break in,” she said. He nodded agreement.
They retraced their steps, leaving nothing disturbed save the air and the dust. The palm lock snapped tight behind them as they stepped back out into the street, giving no hint that it had been foiled. The couple strolled back up the little side street until they stood before Arrapkha’s doorway. They thumbed the buzzer several times.
After the third try, the man leaned close to the little speaker set above the buzzer. “It’s been a long, hard day for us, sir, and we’re both very tired. We mean you no harm, but we are empowered to take whatever steps we think advisable to carry out our assignment. Those steps will include making our own entrance if you don’t let us in.
“We saw you watc
hing us as we let ourselves into the old woman’s shop. I promise you we can let ourselves into your place just as easily. You might also like to know that we have an automon trained on the alley behind your shop. If you have a slip-me-out in your back wall, it won’t do you a bit of good. So why not be pleasant about this”—he smiled in case the shopkeeper had a video pickup hidden somewhere—“and come on out? If you prefer, we can chat here on the street, in full view of your other neighbors.”
They waited a suitable time. The woman looked at her companion, shrugged, and withdrew a small, thimble-shaped object from an inside breast pocket. The door opened immediately. The man nodded, then smiled. The woman put the thimble-thing away and moved back.
Arrapkha stepped outside, closing the door behind him, and looked hesitantly from one visitor to the other. “What can I do for you, lady and sir, this night? Your insistence moved me to concern despite the fact that I am closed now for more than—“
“Skip the banter,” the man said crisply. “We know you were watching us. You know that we’re not here to buy”—he glanced at the sign above the doorway—“wood-work. Or do you deny having watched us?”
“Well, no,” Arrapkha began, “but I—“
“And you didn’t call the police,” the man continued easily, “because the police often ask questions you’d rather not answer, right?”
“Sir, I assure you that I—“
“We’re looking for the old woman and the boy who live in that shop.” The man glanced briefly back toward Mother Mastiffs stall. “You wouldn’t happen to know where they are, would you?”
Arrapkha shook his head, his expression blank. “No, sir, I would not.”
“There are signs of a struggle inside. This is a small street. You didn’t hear anything, see anything?”
“A struggle? Dear me,” Arrapbka muttered, showing signs of distress. “Well, you know, even though this is a small street, it can still be very noisy here, even at night. We don’t always pay close attention.”
“I’ll bet,” the woman muttered. “Just like you didn’t pay attention to all the noise we weren’t making while we were letting ourselves into your neighbor’s shop?”
Arrapkha favored her with a wan smile.
“We haven’t time for these games,” the man said impatiently, reaching into his pants pocket.
“Please, sir and lady.” A look of genuine concern came over Arrapkha’s face. “You said that you wouldn’t do anything—“
“We won’t.” The man’s hand paused a moment as he saw the shopkeeper’s nervous stare. “Even if we have to, we probably won’t.” He slowly withdrew his hand to bring out a small folder. Arrapkha let out a relieved sigh, and studied the contents of the folder. His eyes widened.
The visitor slipped the little case back into his pocket. “Now, then,” he said pleasantly, “I tell you again that we mean you no harm, nor have we any intention of banning the old woman and her boy. Quite the contrary. If they’ve been the victims of violence, as seems probable, we need to know everything you know, so that if they’re still alive, we can help them. Regardless of what you may think of us personally and what we stand for, you must realize that if they’ve met with ill fortune, they’re bound to be better off in our care than in the hands of whoever carried them away. You can see that, surely.”
“Besides,” his companion added matter-of-factly, “if you don’t tell us what you know, we’ll escort you to a place in city center where you’ll be strapped into a machine, and you’ll end up telling us, anyway. It won’t hurt you, but it will waste our time. I don’t like wasted time.” She stared into his eyes. “Understand?”
Arrapkha nodded slowly.
“The old woman you seek—Mother Mastiff?” The man nodded encouragingly. “I think I saw her carried off by several figures. I couldn’t even tell you if they were human or alien. It was dark and misty.”
“Isn’t it always here?” the man muttered. “Go on.”
“That’s all I know, all I saw.” Arrapkha shrugged. “Truly.” He pointed down the street toward the gap that separated Mother Mastiff’s shop from the one next to hers. “Through there I saw struggling shapes in the alley. It still confuses me. She is a very old woman, quite harmless.”
“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 would be very nice to make a lot of money.”
“All right, then,” the man said. “Remember, the people who’ll show up here in response to a signal from the cube won’t necessarily include us, but they’ll be people familiar with our mission. We’ll follow as quickly as we’re able. You’re certain you understand all this, now?”
“I understand.”
“Fine.” The man did not offer to shake Arrapkha’s hand. “Your help is appreciated, and I’m sorry if we upset you.”
Arrapkha shrugged. “Life is full of tiny upsets.”
“So it is,” the man agreed. He turned to his companion. “Let’s go.” They ran back toward the main avenue, leaving Arrapkha standing in front of his shop.
After several hours, Arrapkha put away his woodworking tools, cleaned himself, and prepared to retire. The blue metal cube sat on the stand next to his bed. Arrapkha studied it for a moment. Then he picked it up and walked into the bathroom. Without ceremony or hesitation, he dropped it into the waste-disposal unit and thumbed the “flush” control. He wondered how it would affect the cube, if it would send any kind of signal, and if those on the receiving end of such a signal would interpret it properly.
Feeling much better, he slipped into bed and went to sleep.
Chapter Eight
The forest was full of revelations for the thoroughly urbanized Flinx. The first few nights were hard. The silence hit him with unexpected force, and he found sleeping difficult. Pip spent those nights in uneasy rest, sensing its master’s discomfort. Only the stupava, its head bobbing methodically with its soft snores, was content.