Neal Barrett Jr. - The Prophecy Machine

“I feel we understand each other, Finn. It's no great secret that you irritate me quite a bit. You think too much of yourself, you strut about like every human male I've seen- noble, merchant, soldier and commoner alike. Including, I might add, the dead, who seem no wiser in one state of being than the next.

“Still, we can do some quite interesting things together, in spite of your failings. Even if you're slow in your thinking, I have to say you had the wit to make me , and I give you much credit for that.

“One thing, though, Finn. And this we haven't talked about. We can make things smaller, and doubtless smaller still. If we do, though, why? I am quite fascinated with the effort, the drama of discovery, the thrill of the chase. But I see little sense in the result. What good will tiny things do? What on earth could you use them for?

“You couldn't sell them, for no one's fool enough to buy a thing they can't even see. And surely they'd be stepped on all the time, or simply blow away. Like so many good ideas, I fear this one lacks any value except as an oddity, a curiosity of sorts. Has this perhaps occurred to you?

“Finn?

“Finn …?”

The winds picked up as a gale swept in from the sea. Rain pounded on the twenty-nine roofs, roofs of slate and shale, roofs of wood and thatch, roofs that leaned sideways, roofs that were steep and roofs that were flat.

Rain rattled on the eighty-four windows, windows made of paper, windows made of slats, even, on occasion, windows made of glass.

The house creaked and groaned, trembled and shivered in the wind. Thunder rolled like boulders through the frenzied sky. Lightning painted Finn and Letitia's room with strobic fits of light.

The light struck Julia's ruby eyes, shimmered on her tin and copper scales. Julia didn't care. Julia didn't move. It was night, and there was no one she wanted to talk to, nowhere she wanted to go. At times such as this, listening was her favorite thing to do. When Julia cared to listen, she could hear a vast array of sounds. Sounds from the low scales, sounds from the high. Now, she could hear spiders walking in the walls, hear moths chewing on the rugs out in the hall. If she wanted, she could hear the little clicks and the whirs, the tiny cogs and gears within her metal shell. She had learned, though, to set those sounds aside, unless something went awry. Then, she would fix the problem, or complain about it to Finn.

She could hear, not far away, the vile sounds humans made, playing their Hooter game. A game, she knew, from other sounds she heard, that often brought pain, and even death itself.

She wondered, idly, why these maniacs stayed out in the rain. People and Newlies didn't rust, but why would they want to get wet? She wondered, too, if these fools, like the others, wore some peculiar kind of hat?

Julia stopped hearing in the regular, ordinary way, dropped into a state where she could listen, totally aware, but simply not there.

Finn snored.

Letitia breathed.

Termites ate the wood.

Something slithered softly through the grass.

Something came in the door down below and started up the stairs …

Julia came awake with a start. She was not in the there anymore, she was back, in the here. And here, there was something very much amiss, something that set every golden cog astir, set every wheel abuzz, tingled every gear, every wire, thin as beetle hair.

It was not just the sounds, though the sounds were very clear. Julia had a metal body, metal snout and metal tail, but she had a real brain, taken from a ferret dying in a trap. The ferret was a sly and cunning creature, and it sensed things that humans didn't see. Now that it was part of Julia, it was even quicker, even more aware of sounds that meant danger, smells that meant fear.

There was something else too, from that something on the stairs, something that rattled Julia's scales and lit her ruby eyes; a raw and savage hatred that cut the night air, an anger and a loathing so brutal and intense that Julia shrank away, shut it out at once …

While all this was surging through her head, one second turned to two, and before it got to three, Julia was across the stone floor with scarcely a rattle or a scratch, and up on Finn's chest.

Finn woke.

Not with a start as most anyone would, faced with ruby eyes staring in his face, toothy snout poking at his chin. Finn was not surprised at such intrusions anymore, only vexed, irritated, irked to no end.

“Up,” Julia whispered, like the wind through a broken window pane, “Sword and dagger both. No time for boots, scarcely time for pants. Something's in the hall with murder in its head …!”

Finn took a breath, yanked on his pants, jammed his weapons in his belt. Took one step, and froze on the spot.

A blood-chilling scream shattered the silent night. Not just a scream but another after that. Screams, groans, curses and growls. Sounds of assault, terrible howls.

Letitia sat up straight, eyes big as biscuits, throwing off the sheet, baring lovely private parts.

“Stay down. Cover up. No, wait. Get under the bed. Stay there and don't come out.”

“Finn, just what is going on out there?”

“I don't know. Do what I said.”

Letitia didn't. He didn't think she would.

Finn drew his dagger and his sword, stepped back, and threw open the door.

Whatever he'd expected, it surely wasn't there. Everything else was there instead. Thirty-seven things seemed to happen at once. In the dim corridor, it was hard to sort anything out.

Sabatino Nucci stood barefoot in the hall, crouched in a fighter's deadly stance, lashing his sword about. Facing him were two wiry creatures dressed entirely in black. Black vests and boots. Silky black sashes, baggy pantaloons. Black hoods covered their features, black scarves wound about their necks.

Finn wondered why they bothered with this frightening wear. Even in the dim half-dark, their sharp Foxer noses were quite clear. Their ears made little black tents in the fabric, as if their heads were camping out.

From the corner of his eye, Finn saw Sabatino's father, moaning on the floor behind his son, kicking his legs, and flailing all about. For whatever reason, the old man was naked once again.

And, from the other corner of his eye, Finn saw a scene even more bizarre. Just at the top of the stairs, Squeen William backed against the rail where the steps went up instead of down. Squeen had one furry foot on the floor, one atop a bearded, filthy old man. The man was making meaningless sounds, and frothing at the mouth. Squeen was holding off a third Foxer, beating his withered wings, flailing at his foe with the leg of a broken chair. Clearly, he was trying to save the old man who was doing all he could to shake his benefactor free.

Finn absorbed this whole chaotic scene in the blink of an eye, then waded right in. He had no quarrel with Foxers, but poor Squeen was no match for a creature with a sword.

The Foxer saw Finn, and the greater danger, and turned away from Squeen. Finn wasted little time at all on posture, grace and style. He parried the creature's first pass, knocked the weapon from his hand, struck its bottom with the flat of his sword, and kicked the fellow howling down the stairs.

“You all right, Squeen? You hurt or anything?”

“No, issss bees fine, sssir. Ssssqueen bees thankin' you much.”

“You're most welcome, I'm sure.” Finn glanced over his shoulder at Sabatino. For the moment, he was clearly holding his own.

“Who's that on the floor, Squeen William? He doesn't look healthy at all.”

Squeen showed him a foolish Vampie grin. “Issss nobodyss, ssssir. Isss sssmelly old man.”