The Prophecy Machine

somewhere.

“Come on, come on,” he whispered, slapping her very lightly on the face, “you cannot do this, Letitia. I simply won't have it, do you hear?”

“Lay the victim down flat,” Julia said, poking her snout through the folds of Finn's cape. “Elevate the feet, slightly higher than the head. Loosen the clothing a bit, apply cool cloths to the wrists and the neck. Linen, now, not sacking or wool, neither cotton nor flax, not-”

“Quiet!” Finn grabbed the lizard's copper nose and pushed her roughly out of sight. “Where do you think we are, in Master Spencer's ward, up on Zod Hill? I am not a physician, Julia, I don't have a healing spell. I don't have any linen, any water, cool or hot. If I lay her down, they'll trample her on the spot. Stay out of sight and let me handle this!”

“Fine, go ahead. I'm only trying to help, doing what I can to save the poor girl's life …”

“I am-quite all right,” Letitia said with a sigh, “no thanks to you two, I must say. Will you let me go, please? I feel quite awkward bent in half like this.”

“We were merely trying to help …”

“Yes, of course you were, you're both such dears.”

Letitia busied herself, straightened a wrinkle here and there, patted Finn's hands and brushed them aside.

“Are you sure you can stand now, love, you're still a bit flushed.”

“No one ever expired from a flush,” she said, fanning herself with both hands. “I expect I'll survive if I can jus-”

Her words were lost as a ragged cheer thundered through the crowd. Letitia gasped, startled by the sound.

“Don't look,” Finn said, moving a step to block her view, “Look at something else.”

“Such as? There is little else to see here, Finn.”

“Look at the street. Those bricks are quite ordinary, but the composition, the design, clearly bear the craftsman's touch.”

“Stop it, Finn, I will not look at bricks. Tell me what they're doing to that poor man now, I can't bear to look myself.”

“Nothing at the moment,” Finn said, craning his neck, standing on his toes. “Oh, dear, now that's not good.”

“What? What?”

“They're poking him. Poking him with sticks.”

“Sticks?”

“Yes. Fairly long sticks.”

“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