Neal Barrett Jr. - The Prophecy Machine

“The Prophecy Machine. There's nothing to it, then. It's just a-a machine.”

Sabatino yawned. “What do you think, Mr. Inventor? You saw the holy gibberish the thing spits out.”

“I saw a lot down there, and gibberish doesn't explain it all.”

“Think what you like, I'm sure I don't care.”

“This is monstrous,” Finn said, “he has to let us go. He has no right to treat us this way.”

Clearly, Sabatino didn't care to talk. He was huddled in the darkest part of the room. By scooting his shoulders about, Finn could see further past the gloom. What he'd taken for stains and damage of the years was clearly something else. There were squares and bits of metal, scraps of every kind. Hundreds of them placed in some fearsome array, some strange disorder that only a madman could see. Copper coated green, sheets of dull tin, iron turned a rusty red. Scrap, Finn supposed, salvaged from the machine. And he knew, suddenly, why they were there. They blocked out the power, made this hideaway a refuge from the thing down below …

Sabatino's features curled into a sly and cunning smile. “You see it, do you? The old man's mad, all right, but he knows how to get a night's sleep.”

“You're not telling me everything, Sabatino. There's a great deal more, I'm certain of that. I don't think you can truly help yourself. I doubt you could make it through one complete sentence without a lie. It might be full of truth, but you'd find a hole, an empty spot to tuck in a sham somewhere.”

“I'm greatly offended, sir, crushed, as it were. Your opinion is so important to me. Do you mind if I nap?”

“That night when the Foxers came to call. Your grandfather was on the loose then. Squeen took him off somewhere. Does the Vampie know about this place, then?”

Sabatino forced a nasty laugh. “Of course not, don't be a fool. I didn't know about it till he brought me here. I used to play between the walls when I was a child. The radiations from the cellar hadn't yet filtered up here. Squeen got the old man out of the hall before he could kill someone.”

“A Foxer, you mean. That's what he was after.” Finn didn't need to ask. He knew from Sabatino's expression it was true.

“This quarrel goes back a long way, does it not? Back to your grandfather's time? What started it, Sabatino? Why do the Foxers want the Nuccis dead?”

Sabatino turned away as if he found Finn a crashing bore. “I haven't the foggiest idea. I doubt those idiot creatures know any more than I do. That was too long ago.”

“I don't believe that.”

“Well, the devil with you, then. I couldn't care, Finn.”

“Is it the Prophecy Machine? What do the Foxers have to do with that?”

Sabatino turned back to Finn and glared. “We discussed this, I believe. It isn't a machine that does anything. It's a toy for fools, is what it is.”

“It does something,” Finn said. “It grows all by itself, and it apparently drives people mad.”

“Well, that should be enough, don't you think? What more could you ask? If we really must pass the time together, Finn, I'd rather spend it doing something else. Like getting out of here, before Grandfather comes back. You don't happen to have a blade handy, do you? The old man took mine away.”

Finn had to laugh. “No, I don't have a blade. Would I be lying here talking to you?”

“No, I don't suppose you would.” Sabatino lifted his head, a great and painful effort, wrapped as tightly as he was.

“Left, not too far from your head. It's hard to tell in this feeble excuse for light, but I think there's a scrap of metal over there.”

“Why didn't you bring this up until now?”

“I didn't see the thing until now, damn you. Do you want to argue, or get out of here?”

“I'm bound the same as you. Everything's gone numb, I can't feel my toes.”

“You're closer than I am. It has to be you.”

“I told you-”

“Think about the pretty Newlie, Finn. That should warm you up. It would certainly do it for me.”

Finn refused to be annoyed. There was no use wanting to batter someone if you were both paralyzed.

He was sure he couldn't make it. He could feel everything from his head to his waist, but that didn't seem to help. One needed hands and feet. Limbs separated Man from the lower forms of life. No wonder larva never did a thing.

“Undulate,” Sabatino suggested. “Sort of scoot, you know? Push and then pull, push and then-”

“Shut up,” Finn said. “I can undulate without your help.” And he did exactly that. Pushed with his shoulders, then pulled, raising his belly off the ground, dragging his useless limbs behind. How long could one cut off circulation without ill effect? The word gangrene came to mind.

“A bit more, Finn.”

“Just be quiet. I'm over here and you're not.”

“Well, do excuse me.”

“I'm not even sure what you saw is metal at all. The closer I get, the worse this corner smells.”

“I'm sure it's metal, Finn.”

“It damn well better be. It better not be what I think it might be.”

Sabatino chuckled to himself. “Wouldn't that be a cruel jest? A fine tale to spin at TAVERNsome time.”

“If you were there to tell it, you mean.”

“Do get on with it, Finn.”

Finn muttered to himself, cursing every Nucci from the present to the past.

Fits and Mitts, what a frightening thought … dozens, generations of Nuccis I've never heard about …!

“I've got it,” Finn said. “I'm happy to admit that you're right. It's a scrap of iron as broad as my hand. Rusty, but it still has an edge. There's some other pieces here, copper and some tin. But this should do quite well.”

“Excellent. Undulate over here, Finn. Let's do get out of here.”

“I don't care for that word. Try not to use it again.”

“Well, scamper won't do, and it's surely not scurry , not at that pace. Don't linger, Finn. I shall think of something on the way …”

If he got out of this, which seemed unlikely at best, Finn would count it as the third, or even the second, most humiliating moment of his life. Scooting across the grimy floor, putting undulation out of mind, he managed, after a torturous, never-ending time, after forever had passed him by, to reach Sabatino against the far wall. With the scrap of rusty iron in his teeth, he moved quite close to the fellow's rather ponderous rear.

“If you cut me, Finn, I'll hold you accountable for it,” Sabatino said. “On my oath I will.”

“If I cut you,” Finn told him, “if your blood comes spurting like a fountain in the square, you'll never feel a thing. Your hands are a most unsightly shade of blue.”

Sabatino went silent after that. The cord the old man had used was older than Finn, but there was plenty of it. Finn's jaw was weary. Sweat poured down his brow to sting his eyes. He wanted to rest, but wasn't sure he could raise the scrap of iron again.

“I think you'd best hurry,” Sabatino said. “I don't feel we have a lot of time.”

“A keen observation. I wish I'd thought of that.”

“I'd remind you of the lovely Letitia, how she may, at this very moment, be in dire straits. I would, but I'm sure you'd take offense, you nearly always do-”

“Get up.”

“What?”

“Move your arms, roll about. Undulate , you ungrateful lout, your hands are free.”

“Oh, my good friend, I am in your debt. I shall never forget this most charitable act.”

“Yes, you will. Almost at once. Now get about it, damn you, before some crazed relation comes along. Your hands and your legs are going to hurt. Swallow the pain and get me out of here.”