Neal Barrett Jr. - The Prophecy Machine

“Do they-do they appear to be sharpened or dull, these sticks?”

“It's hard to tell from here, but I'd say they're very sharp sticks.”

“Oh, no.”

“Long sticks. Sharp at one end.”

“Don't tell me that, I don't want to hear!”

“Then don't ask, my dear.”

“Even if I do, don't tell me, all right?”

“I won't, then. Ah, something else is going on now.”

“What?”

“Stop asking, Letitia. You said you didn't want to hear.”

“I don't, dear, but I do.”

“I understand, you don't and yet you do. It's natural to feel that way.”

“What a nice thing to say. You are always very kind and understanding, Finn.”

“I doubt that I am. But I always mean well, you know.”

With that, she gave him a very quick kiss on the cheek, which was not a good idea, a Newlie showing intimate affection to a human in public, as it were.

Still, Finn was pleased. Sometimes he seemed to hurt her feelings, sometimes he seemed to give her joy. And even though he loved her, he was often baffled by her ways. Males and females, as everyone knew, were different as night and day. And, for certain, Newlies and humans were not the same. Some differences were slight, but others were not.

Letitia was a Mycer, with the blood of ancient creatures in her veins. There weren't supposed to be any drawings, any pictures of the creatures Newlies had been before their magical change. There were, though, and Finn had seen them all. Some of these images disturbed him, like Snouters and the vicious Yowlie kind, but he always tried to keep an open mind.

And, though he truly loved Letitia, sometimes in his head-sometimes together in bed-he could see that small, furry creature with the twitchy nose and pink tail. It was hard to forget this lovely female, this beauty with intelligence and wit, still had the blood of creatures past in her veins. Three hundred years before, her folk had scampered through the cellars and the walls of human habitats- despised by people themselves, who broke their backs with little traps. And, for added pleasure, kept the cruel, cunning ancestors of the Yowlies about to do the killing job as well.

And even now, those who defended Newlie rights often admitted in their hearts that humans and Newlies would never be the same. Finn wished it weren't so, but wishes seldom changed the world. All he could do was try and keep Letitia from the uglier aspects of life. Which, he thought, with no little shame, he wasn't doing very well now, caught in the midst of an odorous crowd who cheered a pack of lunatics in tall yellow hats.

Letitia tried to see past him, and Finn did his best to make sure that she did not. The madmen had reached a new plateau in their torment of the old man on the rack. Much to the pleasure of the crowd, one fellow brought out a large, shiny, wicked-looking blade that clearly belonged to the butcher's trade.

Skinning, hanging, evisceration and fire …

Finn recalled, with a visible shudder, those words of the Master of Chairs. And without a conscious thought, he touched the pommel of his own weapon hanging at his side.

“Butter and Bread,” he said aloud, “If that's not a fleshing blade, then I'm a great pile of whale doo!”

“My stars, Finn.”

“Sorry,” Finn said, and moved even closer to block her way.

The horror by the cart was difficult to watch, but Finn couldn't bring himself to look away. The brute with the butcher's blade drew a charcoal line across his captive's chest, from one collarbone to the next.

Here , the fellow was showing the crowd, is where I will begin …

The victim saw the blade and screamed …

One fellow gagged him …

Another tightened the knots around his legs …

One poked him with a stick, missed, wandered off left and then right, came back and poked him in the groin …

One ran into the wagon, knocked himself cold, and dropped to the ground …

Lout number one raised his blade high …

The crowd sucked in a great collective breath …

The blade descended, and touched his howling victim's chest …

Everything began to happen, everything at once …

It happened so quickly there was scarcely time to think. A single voice, a murderous cry roiled like thunder through the crowd. The great and noisy herd was struck silent, awed by the unearthly sound that seemed to come from everywhere.

Then, just behind the torture rack itself, a yellow-hat bowed his head and dropped. Another grabbed his face and fell, still another stared at the fountain of red where his arm had been half a blink before.

The awful, fearsome voice that had stilled the raging crowd now showed itself to be a man, a tall man, a man with arms and shoulders strong enough to wield the heavy, man-killer blade he clutched in both hands. He wore a suit of leather and mail, shirt, cape and baggy trousers the shade of the sea. On his head, a rakish felt hat crowned with plumes of lavender, green and gold.

Never stopping for a moment, never even slowing down, he hacked, slashed, and chopped himself a path through the killers like a mad reaper loose in a field.

For an instant, his foes seemed dazzled, stunned, completely out of sorts. Then they found their wits and came at him like an angry nest of hornets, like a hive of yellow bees. But this was not a bare, pasty old man, a man you could laugh at, poke with a stick …

Men dropped, men died, men crawled away and bled. Men shrieked and howled, men turned away and ran.

Then, as quickly as it had started, it was just as quickly done …

Finn watched, bewildered, as the big man lowered his blade, and the yellow-hats fell back. Moving to the rack, he slashed at the bonds that held the old man. The poor fellow sagged, wavered, but managed to stand his ground. The swordsman turned his back to the crowd and covered the old man with his cloak.

Still wielding his weapon, the tall man drew a leather sack from his belt, weighed it in his palm, then tossed it to the yellow-hats, tossed it with contempt. One of the Hatters caught it, peeked inside, let the others see, then quickly jerked it back. He spoke to the swordsman, waving his arms about. The swordsman laughed, and swung his blade in a blur, missing the man by an inch. The Hatters shrank back. The man with the sword gripped the old man's arm, and stalked away boldly through the crowd.

A few steps farther and he stopped, found another bag, dug around inside, pulled out a fistful of bright silver coins and threw them to the crowd.

The horde went mad, pounding, pummeling, and kicking one another to grab a precious coin. The big man laughed and stomped across the square, swinging his blade to keep the crowd aside.

Finn could see the plume of his hat bobbing above the crowd, then, for the first time, a glimpse of his face, the pock-marked flesh, the thick red hair-

“Great Gars and Guppies!” Finn gasped, scarcely able to believe his eyes. “It's him, by damn-it's that bloody lout, Sabatino Nucci in the flesh!”

Finn took a step back and drew his blade. Drew a breath and held it, felt his heart pound against his chest.

“Finn, dear,” Letitia said, resting her hand lightly on his arm, “I doubt he has the time to fight now, he seems to be quite occupied.”

“You simply don't know him,” Finn said, moving her gently aside, “The man's a lunatic, crazed, of unsound mind. You simply can't say-”

Finn sliced the air, bent one knee, parried, thrust, snapped to a dueler's stance again.

“-what a savage like that will do next. He doesn't think like a man of reason, Letitia. Don't be fooled by the fancy clothes, he's scarcely civilized. Stay here, love, I shall be right back.”

“Finn …!”

Townsmen stepped aside, puzzled, bewildered at a stranger pushing through their ranks. Something was amiss. One swordsman was ample entertainment, two was not proper, two was not right.