For Love of Mother-Not Read Online Free Page B

paid the government money for me, didn’t you? I was told that was what was going to happen to me.”
    “It was only to pay off the debt the government incurred for taking care of ye,” she explained to him. “I don’t actually own ye. I would never do that.”
    “Oh,” he said quietly. “That’s nice. I’m glad.” He waited a moment, watching her, then added, “That’s everything I can remember.”
    “Ye did fine.” She leaned forward and pointed to her right, up the street. The chair groaned. “If ye walk six stalls that way, ye’ll find a very small shop run by a mur man. His name be Cheneth. Go up to him and tell him who ye be and where ye came from. And ye can buy from him”—she thought a moment, not wishing to overdo things—”a half credit’s worth of whatever ye see in his shop.”
    “What kind of shop is it?” he asked excitedly.
    “Candy,” she said, enjoying the light that came into his face. “Ye remember what candy is, don’t ye? I can see by the expression on your face that ye do.” She could also tell by the speed with which he took off up the street. He was back before long, those deep emerald eyes shining from his dark face. “Thank you, Mother.”
    “Go on, go on, move to one side! You’re blocking my—our—view of the customers. Wander about, learn the ins and outs of where ye live now.”
    He vanished like a ray of sunshine, his red hair disappearing into the crowd.
    Expensive, she thought to herself. That boy’s going to be expensive to raise. How by the ringaps did I ever let myself fall into this? She grumbled silently for another several minutes until a potential customer appeared.
    Flinx learned rapidly. He was undemonstrative, highly adaptable, and so quiet she hardly knew when he was around. Soonhe was amazing her with his knowledge of the layout and workings of the marketplace and even the greater city beyond. He worked constantly on expanding his store of information, badgering shopkeepers with persistent questions, refusing to take “I don’t know” for an answer.
    Mother Mastiff put no restrictions on him. No one had ever told her it was improper to give an eight-year-old the run of a city as wild as Drallar. Never having raised a child before, she could always plead ignorance, and since he returned dutifully every night, unscathed and unharmed, she saw no reason to alter the practice despite the clucking disapproval of some of her neighbors.
    “That’s no way to handle a boy of an age that tender,” they admonished her. “If you’re not careful, you’ll lose him. One night, he won’t come home from these solo forays.”
    “A boy he is, tender he’s not,” she would reply. “Sharp he be, and not just for his age. I don’t worry about him. I haven’t the time, for one thing. No matter what happens to him, he’s better off than he was under government care.”
    “He won’t be better off if he ends up lying dead in a gutter somewhere,” they warned her.
    “He won’t,” she would reply confidently.
    “You’ll be sorry,” they said. “You wait and see.”
    “I’ve been waiting and seeing going on ninety years” was her standard reply, “and I haven’t been surprised yet. I don’t expect this boy to break that record.”
    But she was wrong.
    It was midafternoon. The morning mist had developed into a heavy rain. She was debating whether or not to send the boy out for some food or to wait. Half a dozen people were wandering through the shop, waiting for the downpour to let up—an unusually large number for any day.
    After a while, Flinx wandered over and tugged shyly at her billowing skirt. “Mother Mastiff?”
    “What is it, boy? Don’t bother me now.” She turned back to the customer who was inspecting antique jewelry that graced a locked display case near the rear of the stall. It wasrare that she sold a piece of the expensive stuff. When she did, the profit was considerable.
    The boy persisted, and she snapped at him. “I told