The Prophecy Machine

The Madeline Rose raced across a tranquil sea with a song in her rigging, the wester-wind full behind her sails. The morning sky was bright, the sea as green as a wicked maiden's eyes.

The particular maid that came to mind brought a smile to the face of Master Finn, a smile so full of pleasure past of a lady he'd not forget, that Finn turned at once from the rail to be sure no other was about.

With great relief, he thanked whatever gods held sway upon the sea that Letitia Louise was down below and out of sight. Granted, she was sick, weary, greatly out of sorts, and most likely cursing the day she gave her love to Master Lizard-Maker Finn. Still, all in all, bless her, she was there, not here….

If fair Letitia had seen that smile, he knew he would be in deeper trouble than he was. Letitia had an uncanny talent for guessing what-or who-might be in his head. It was no sort of magic, nor any kind of spell-every Newlie born, every number of the Nine, carried both the burdens and the gifts of the animals they'd been.

For Letitia's folk, it was caution, quickness, a shifting of the eyes, habits born of a bone-cold fear of the creatures who'd preyed upon her kind, stalked them, tracked them, hunted them down, ages before they'd both taken on a higher form. That fear was with Letitia's people still, for in many ways, their ancient foes had scarcely changed from what they'd been.

Now, standing on the foredeck of the Madeline Rose watching the beauty of the foam-flecked sea, Finn was shaken once again by utter disbelief, by the cruelty of the joke that Fate had seen to cast their way.

“How, in all creation,” he said aloud, “could things go so awry? How could I have possibly gotten poor Letitia into this?”

It was difficult to stay on deck at all; only Letitia's tears and the heat down below had driven him up into the day. Once there, he found it near impossible to peer into the vessel's very peak, through the maze and the tangle of the headsails and halyards, the beckets and the blocks, the mainsails, foresails and who knows what. Still, as if this action might purge him, as if he might atone, he made himself lift his eyes again.

And there, in the dizzy heights above, leaping from the shrouds, scrambling up the masts, was the very source of Letitia's nightmares-screeching, howling, loathsome creatures with pointy tufted ears, flat pink noses and pumpkin-seed eyes: striped, spotted, ginger, black and white. They all wore mulberry, plum, or lilac pantaloons, and little else at all.

Here then, the crew of the Madeline Rose, likely a hundred of the dreaded Yowlie folk, maybe more than that. And somehow, with no great effort, Finn had managed to pay a small fortune to set Letitia down in their midst.

He could tell himself there was nothing else for it, that it wasn't his fault. They had boarded in the night, gone to their cabin and awakened with the land far out of sight. How was he to know these agile, evil-eyed devils were prized the world over for their prowess in those shaky heights above the sea?

“What did I know?” he said aloud. “I was born and raised a landsman, and I ply a landsman's trade. What am I supposed to know about anything that floats?”

He had learned a great deal that very first morning when Letitia's screams brought him quickly out of sleep. There, in a porthole, caught in the early dawn light, was a flat-nosed creature with grinning opal eyes. Her screams had brought another, then another after that, until there were half a dozen horrid faces pressed against the glass. Only the appearance of the captain himself had finally chased the brutes away. All this was but a single day gone, but it seemed an eternity to Finn …

“I always say,” said a voice as soothing as hail on a roof of rusty tin, “I always say there's trouble enough come tomorrow without all this moaning about the past. One takes what comes, one shakes away sorrow and trods on ahead. One-”

“By damn,” Finn said, “I turned you off, now you're blathering again.”

“Don't build a bleeding wonder if you don't expect her to act like one,” Julia said. “I'm more than you imagined, less than what I'll be.”

“That makes no sense at all. Are you aware of that? You're a braggart's what you are, a pompous, puffed-up bag of tin. I can't imagine how you turned out like you did. I must have put something in backwards somewhere.”

“There's no use blaming yourself for this grievous turn of events. It is your fault, of course, but there's little you can do about that. Wisdom comes easily to the man who's waiting for the axeman's blade to fall. For the first time in his life, he knows exactly where he's going next.”

“Am I mistaken? I don't think I asked your opinion. I don't think I asked you anything at all.”

“As a matter of fact, I don't suppose you did. Still-”

“Julia, another sound, any sound at all, and I swear you go into the sea. Where, as the good captain put it, you'll learn what rust is all about.”

“Finn-”

“I warned you, I vow I won't again.” “Quiet,” Julia hissed softly in his ear, “now it's you that's rambling, Finn!”

Julia saw them first over Finn's shoulder, coming from the maindeck to the bow. An instant later Finn heard them too, turning hastily as Julia became ornamental once again.

Finn had glimpsed the pair before, a pinch-nosed lawyer and his unlovely spouse, each the very image of the other- gaunt, spare, stiff as winter reeds, each wrapped tight in heavy robes, as if the fair sun might burn their pale visages away.

“A good morning to you,” Finn said, though neither deigned to look his way. Instead, they paused well away from the rail and muttered darkly to each other, careful not to look at the blue and churning sea.

“That woman's face would curdle lead,” Julia croaked in Finn's ear, “and he's no great prize himself …”

“Quiet,” Finn said, “I don't believe I asked.”

The man looked back just then as if he might have heard the two. His frown, though, was not for the lizard or Finn.

“You. Stop dawdling around back there,” he shouted, “Get your useless carcass up here, Gyrd!”

With a whimper and a whine, the Newlie lad appeared, stumbling along the larboard deck balancing a silver tray of goblets, oat-bread, goat-bread, two-pepper cheese, and a dark red beaker of ale.

This, in the right hand, flailing for a hold with the left. The lawyer scowled, the woman shook her bony chin. The Newlie slipped, caught himself again. Far overhead, a gaggle of crewmen screeched and laughed aloud.

Startled, beset on every side, Gyrd's pointy nose twitched, his ears perked up and his red eyes sparked with sudden fear.

“By damn, watch what you're doing,” the counselor warned, “I'll thrash you good and proper if you drop that, boy!”

Like all of his kind, Gyrd was a lean and graceful creature on the land, yet plainly uncertain out to sea. Just as those harsh words rent the air, the ship plunged her oaken bow into the deep, leaped up again, burying the foc'sle in a veil of foamy white.

Finn grabbed a rail and held his breath. Ahead and to his left, the Newlie took one good step and then the next, fought the wall of water, coughed, spat out the sea, and never gave way.

“Good lad,” Finn shouted aloud, “You've done it, boy!”

Gyrd turned to face him, started to grin-

— and that was the moment a burly, pock-faced, mean-eyed man with a shock of red hair lurched out of nowhere, bursting up from a passageway with no sort of warning at all.

Gyrd cried out as the man struck him soundly, lifting him off his feet, sending him sprawling, nearly sweeping him into the sea. His legs hit the railing, bringing him to his knees. Tray, tidbits, goblets and bottle went whirling into the deep.

The lad shook himself, tried to stand, then fell back again.

“Onions and Leeks!” Finn swore, “Stay down, don't move, you've likely broken something, boy!”

Finn raced quickly across the deck. The boy gave a plaintive little bark, stared at Finn and thrashed about. The bow dipped again, hurling tons of water from the sea. Finn choked, wiped his eyes, opened them again. The big