Neal Barrett Jr. - The Prophecy Machine

“Oh, Finn …” Letitia's frown faded and curled into a smile. “What a lovely thing to say.”

“The truth comes easily, my dear. And, I must add, you came up with a brilliant method of getting us out of there, purchasing an ugly, unbelievably heavy chair. I only wish I'd thought of it myself.”

Finn looked at the ground and nudged a broken crock with his boot. “It is a failing of the male of the species, I fear. We like to believe that everything of merit surely begins with us.”

“I know that, dear Finn.” Letitia showed him a gracious smile. “The female of every species is well aware of this, and we love you all the same.”

“Well … That is a kindly thing to say.”

“Finn? If we had indeed found an inn, would you have considered- cavorting , as that dirty old man implied?”

“You can be certain that I would,” he told her. “Neither of us were inclined to, ah-frolic and cavort on that damnable ship. I, for one, have-”

“Must I listen to this?” Julia croaked from under Finn's cloak. “Is it possible you could save this twaddle for some more fitting time and place?”

“Julia!” Letitia drew a breath. “I am awfully surprised at you, listening in on other people's clearly private talk. I thought you had better manners than that.”

“I'm not surprised at all,” Finn said, “because I know you treasure those moments when you can sorely irritate. What I'll say, and only once, is we are not on home ground here. We are in a land where fools in pointy hats walk about backwards. A land where you can purchase ugly chairs, yet no one has the wit to think of inns. Thus, I would urge you to have a caution, and keep your rusty, scrap-iron thoughts to yourself.”

“Well excuse me,” said Julia Jessica Slagg, “What did I do?”

“What you always do,” Finn said, “just try not to do it again …”

The Port Of Nakeemo in the land of Makasar, Finn decided, might well have been planned by the yellow-hats themselves. Many of the narrow, odorous streets appeared to lead to other avenues, then abruptly disappeared. Order, here, was merely an illusion, a dismal sort of joke. Often, a turn to the left or the right became a circular route, leading one where he'd begun. As an added hindrance, none of the streets had names.

Through pure blind luck, one of the avenues brought Finn and Letitia out of murky shadow into a broad, sunlit marketplace. Finn was more than grateful; he decided markets everywhere were likely much the same, even in so bizarre a land as this.

There were vegetable and fruit stalls, stalls that sold fish, stalls that sold mussels, lobsters and clams. Stalls that sold fat pink shrimp, stalls that sold eels still writhing on the hook.

And, as ever, there were stalls that sold amulets, talis-mans and charms. Wands, hexes, potions and spells. There was magic that would cure, magic that would kill, magic that would turn a man to stone. And, for a very hefty price, magic that would bring back the dead.

The trouble with magic, Finn knew, was that some of it didn't work at all, and some of it worked too well. Anyone with good sense would stay away from stalls, and go to a seer with a license to spell. That, of course, didn't keep minor mages and frauds from setting up a tent and laying out their wares.

Finn talked awhile with a man who sold metals of every sort: rust-red nuggets of iron, bars of silver and bronze, snippets of copper and tin-rare and base metals Finn used in his Lizard Shoppe to fashion cogs and gears, talons and scales.

Still, the man had nothing Finn couldn't buy on Garpenny Street, or down the hill at the forge of Master Del. But since the man had been patient while Finn poked through his goods, Finn bought a spool of fine-spun silver wire at twice the price he'd pay at home.

“And why not?” he said aloud to himself. “We've already bought an overpriced chair we couldn't move an inch if we cared …”

Letitia Louise had found a fragrance she liked at the booth next door. It was oil of tangerine, and she held up her wrist to let Finn have a sniff.

“Very nice,” he said, “but you always smell good to me.”

“Musty. That's what you say sometimes.”

“Musty's good. Musty is a most appealing scent.”

“What do you think of musty tangerine?”

“I think I'll be able to handle that.”

Walking farther east through the market, the crowded stalls and tents gave way to a small public square. In the center of the square was a fountain surrounding some crude statuary, a carving Finn could not identify. Water trickled in rivulets down its mossy sides. A crowd was gathered at the fountain, and more seemed to be on the way. Many belonged to the yellow-hat bunch, so the mass was always in motion, seeming like a single being that constantly changed its shape, and never stood entirely still.

Standing well to the side of this group were other humans of the town, and several Newlies as well. Finn saw a dozen Foxers, Snorters in their customary red, and two large Bullies from the docks. Letitia seemed slightly out of sorts, and continually twitched her nose until she was certain no Yowlie crewmen were about.

“Whatever it is,” Finn said, “I hope it starts soon. We must find a place to spend the night.”

Letitia frowned. “I thought that old man made it clear there wasn't any place. I thought they didn't do that here.”

“Yes, indeed he did,” Finn answered, clearing his throat, “but we can't rely on that. We only have the word of a senile, sullen old grouch who makes chairs. I cannot imagine there is not one person in town who is somewhat civilized.”

“One would hope,” Letitia sighed, touching a spot of tangerine oil behind her ears.

“Yes, one would. It is my intention, as soon as we can find our way out of here …”

Finn didn't finish. He paused as a sudden murmur swept through the crowd. The mob seemed to shrink and then swell, swell and shrink again. And, each time this contraction took place, some of the yellow-hats broke from the mass and headed off in one direction or the next.

“Perhaps we'll see whatever it is,” Letitia said. “I do hope it's a parade.”

Finn gave her a curious look. “I thought you didn't like parades.”

“I don't, ordinarily. I do like some kinds, though.”

“What kinds would that be?”

“I'm not really sure. The only one I've seen was the Bowser Brigade. You remember, dear? They came through town on the way to the War?”

“Yes, I surely do.”

“They wore those lovely plaid and green uniforms, and the cute little hats with the tassels hanging down. I was so proud because they were Newlies, and didn't have to fight if they didn't want to.”

Letitia paused, and Finn saw the sudden touch of sadness in her eyes. “They didn't come back, as I recall. None except for two. I forgot about that.”

“No. I don't believe they did.”

Scarcely anyone does , he said to himself. He remembered so many who had gone, and simply disappeared. Pikemen and bowmen, Balloon Grenadiers. A certain captain, he recalled, gone one day looking natty in his new uniform. Back the next as a Coldie, as a shade, no longer a man, scarcely a shadow, hardly a mist, barely aware that he was there.

Finn had thought a lot about it, and decided this was what the War was for: war gave people something to do-the rich and poor alike. Thus, there was always work for the vagrant, and the fools at court who liked the dashing costumes.

Not for the first time, Finn was grateful he'd come from good craftsman stock. Dying, from what he could see, was not a promising career.

Just as these scraps of wisdom were crossing his mind, someone in the crowd began to shout. One single voice, then another, and another after that, until the sound began to echo through the churning mass and swelled to an awesome, deafening roar.