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sometimes.”
    “You’ve lived with me for some time now, boy. Ye know me better than that.” Her voice became gentle again. “Come now. Fair is fair. So stop lying to me by insisting you didn’t see him swallow those rings.”
    “I didn’t,” he said belligerently, “and I’m not lying. The man was—he was starting to walk away from the case, and he was uncomfortable. He was, he felt—what’s the word? He felt guilty.”
    “Now how do ye know that?”
    “Because,” he murmured, not looking at her but staring out at the street where strange people scurried back and forth in the returning mist, “because I felt it.” He put his small hand to his forehead and rubbed gently. “Here.”
    Great Ganwrath of the Flood, Mother Mastiff thought sharply. The boy’s a Talent. “You mean,” she asked again, “you read his mind?”
    “No,” he corrected her. “It’s not like that. It’s just—it’s a feeling I get sometimes.”
    “Do ye get this feeling whenever ye look at someone who’s been guilty?”
    “It’s not only guilty,” he explained, “it’s all kinds of feelings. People—it’s like a fire. You can feel heat from a fire.” She nodded slowly. “Well, I can feel certain things from people’s heads. Happiness or fear or hate and lots of other things I’m not sure about. Like when a man and a woman are together.”
    “Can ye do this whenever ye wish?” she asked.
    “No. Hardly ever. Lots of times I can’t feel a thing. It’s clean then and doesn’t jump in on me, and I can relax. Then there’s other times when the feeling will just be there—in here,” he added, tapping his forehead again. “I was looking toward that man, and the guilt and worry poured out of him like a fire, especially whenever he looked at the jewel case. He was worried, too, about being discovered somehow and being caught, and a lot of other things, too. He was thinking,was throwing out thoughts of lots of quick money. Money he was going to get unfairly.”
    “Emotions,” she mused aloud, “all emotions.” She began to chuckle softly. She had heard of such things before. The boy was an empathic telepath, though a crude one. He could read other people’s emotions, though not their actual thoughts.
    “It’s all right, Flinx,” she assured him. She put out a hand and gave his hair a playful tousle. “Ye did right well. Ye saved me, saved us both, a lot of money.” She looked over at the small leatherine purse that now held the four recovered and cleansed rings. They still smelled of disinfectant.
    “No wonder that thief couldn’t figure out how you’d spotted him. Ye really didn’t see him take the rings.”
    “No, Mother. I wasn’t even sure what he’d taken.”
    “Ye just felt the reaction in his mind?”
    “I guess,” he said. “I—I don’t know how it happens, but I know that most people can’t do it, can they?”
    “No,” she said gently, “most other people can’t. And sometimes they become very upset if they think there’s someone around like ye who can.”
    Flinx nodded solemnly. “Like the bad people?”
    “Maybe,” she said, considering that possibility. “Maybe like the bad people, yes. Ye can’t control the power, you’re sure?”
    “I’m sure. I’ve tried. Sometimes it’s just there, a burning inside my head. But most of the time it’s not.”
    She nodded. “That’s too bad, too bad. Ye have what’s called a Talent, Flinx.”
    “A Talent.” He considered that a moment, then asked uncertainly, “Is it a good thing?”
    “It can be. It can also be a dangerous thing, Flinx. We must make a secret of it, your secret and mine. Don’t ever tell anyone else about it.”
    “I won’t,” he murmured, then added energetically, “I promise. Then you’re not mad at me?”
    “Mad?” She let out a long, rolling cackle. “Now how could I be mad with ye, boy? I’ve regained my jewelry, and you’ve gained quite a bit of respect among our neighbors. Inthe