The Prophecy Machine

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.

Finn felt a chill touch the back of his neck. Something, or someone, was whipping this crowd into a fever, into an unthinking horde. He could almost taste the anger, the unfettered rage, and most frightening of all, the ugly side of joy, the dark anticipation of what they'd come for, what they'd come to see.

“I don't like this,” he said, quickly grasping Letitia's hand. “We're leaving, we shouldn't be here.”

“Yes, you're right,” Letitia said, her eyes now wide with primal fear. “I'm scared, Finn. And I don't even know what it is I'm scared to see.”

Finn turned to retrace their steps, to go back the way they'd come. He saw, at once, there was no place to go, no way through that solid terrifying wall. It would be worth their lives to even try.

“Hold on to me,” he said, “don't let go. And don't be frightened, my dear.”

Letitia looked at him. “Why not? You are.”

Finn had no answer to that.

“Look, look there,” Letitia said, her nails biting into his arm. “What-what on earth is that!”

Finn followed her glance. At first, he saw nothing at all. Then, at the far end of the square, he saw that the great mass had parted to form a narrow avenue. This action brought the crowd to sudden quiet. A thousand breaths were held; for an instant, a thousand hearts ceased to beat.

Then, through this passage came a throng of yellow-hatters-a dozen, a dozen more than that, then a hundred more, backwards, forwards, walking and stalking, hopping in every mad direction, bumping into houses, running into walls, crashing headlong into their own, knocking one another to the ground. Some got up, and some lay where they fell.

The crowd shrank back, scattered, tried to let them get by. Still, there were too many townsfolk, too many Newlies wandering about. When some hapless soul got in the way, a yellow-hat would explode into anger, beat that being senseless, and kick them to the ground. No one tried to defend themselves, and no one came to their aid.

“This is insanity,” Finn said, “This country is a-a damned asylum, is what it is, and someone's stolen the key.”

“Huh? Whassat? What was you saying, sor?”

Finn looked up into a dirt-stained face, a sun-blistered nose, a tangled beard and septic eyes. All on the body of a hulk in overalls.

“You're quite mistaken, sir. I said nothing at all.”

“Ruuunka youga hoom,” the man said, or words to that effect. “You'd best not be sayin' it again.”

“Finn, please.” Letitia rolled her eyes. “We are guests in this land. You're acting just awful. You're acting like Julia now.”

“Yes, I suppose I am,” Finn said, taken aback by her words. “I certainly won't do it again.”

And, with that, underneath his cloak, Julia Jessica Slagg dug brassy teeth into his flesh.

“I'll get you for that,” Finn muttered, sucking in a breath.

Once more the crowd began to shout, even louder, even more frenzied than before. From the break in the crowd, a high-wheeled wagon appeared, drawn by more hat people still. As the wagon drew closer, Finn could see it held an iron-barred cage. And, within the cage, clinging to the bars, was a naked, frightened man with a mop of shaggy white hair.

“Oh, dear, get me out of here, Finn, please.”

Letitia's mouth was so dry she could scarcely spit out the words.

“I'd love to,” he told her, “but there's nowhere to go.”

He squeezed her hand, harder this time. No great help, but the best that he could do.

The villains brought the wagon to a halt near the fountain at the center of the square. Four of them hurried to the back of the cart and lifted off long wooden boards. They had clearly practiced this before: it was hardly any time before a rough-hewn structure took shape, a crude apparatus twice as tall as a man. Three other louts opened the cage and dragged the naked man out.

At once, the poor fellow shouted and flailed his limbs about. The crowd began to cheer. Clearly, they liked the show so far.

The victim wasn't young, but he was still full of fight. After much effort, his captors managed to bind him to the wooden device. The fellow strained against his bonds, threw back his head and howled.

“I-am-going-to be sick,” Letitia said, closing her eyes against the sight. “I really mean it, Finn.”

“No. No you're not. That's not a good idea.”

Holding Letitia about the waist, he turned to a doughy, middle-aged woman standing next to the man in overalls.

“Excuse me,” he said, “could you possibly tell me what they intend to do with that man?”

The woman smiled, showing Finn a row of blackened teeth. Dentistry, Finn decided, was in its infancy here.

“Why, same thing they al'ays does. Goin' to hang 'im, skin 'im and string 'im out.”

“They-what?”

Finn felt his stomach do a flip. The Master of Chairs had threatened this very same treatment, not half an hour before.

“After that,” the woman added, “they'll fire 'im up, black 'im to a crisp. How comes you doesn't know that?”

“We're new here, we don't know the local customs yet. By the way, does the word inn have any meaning to you? We're looking for a-”

“Finn …”

Letitia was swaying, much like a sapling in the wind, her mouth sagging open, her eyes rolling back. Finn held her close, caught her before she fell. For a very petite and slender being, she seemed to find a great deal of weight