The Prophecy Machine

“What?” Finn looked at Julia perched on a hardback chair. “And how would you know? I've warned you not to jabber, have I not? Most especially when you've no idea what you're talking about.”

“You have indeed. But if I'm wrong about the menu here, you may strike me with a rock. Further, I'm sure Letitia is right. It is most unlikely you're under a spell. The Fates don't have to drop dung in your lap. Dung happens. It can strike anyone at any time. This time it's you.”

“Fine, that's it.” Finn threw up his hands, then let them collapse at his sides. “I'm assaulted by my own dear wife on one side, and a-a pile of scrap on the other. I'm out of sorts, mentally impaired, and oh-overly tired.”

“Don't do this, dear …”

“I won't. Don't worry. From here on, I'll keep my insane thoughts to myself.”

“Imagine,” said Julia Jessica Slagg, “I lived to see that.”

“No, that's not entirely correct.” Finn whirled about to face the lizard. “You talk, you slither about, you even have a ferret's brain inside your tin head. Whether you are actually alive is another matter.”

“That's not a nice thing to say,” Letitia said.

Finn gave her a cutting smile. “What do you want me to do, apologize to a bag of gears and wires? All right, I'm sorry, Julia. You think you're alive? Fine. You're alive and I'm overwrought. Dung happens. Sticks and Bricks, I've got to take a nap.”

“It's all right. I'm used to abuse. That's my mission in life.”

“Apparently, it's mine as well.”

“Poor you,” Letitia said. “Poor both of you. And I'm still hungry, does anyone care about that?”

Julia blinked her ruby eyes. “We have company. It's that ugly thing with hair.”

“I don't hear a thing,” Finn said.

Someone rapped lightly on the door.

“Come in,” Letitia said, “it's not locked.”

“How could it be?” Julia said, “It's scarcely a door.”

Letitia had seen Squeen only moments before, but the sight of him startled her all over again.

“Ssssssir and lady. Dinner isss be ssserving, if you pleassse …”

“Thank you,” Finn said, “but we're very tired, and we'd rather eat up here, if it's no trouble for you.”

“Issss no bees trouble, sssir.”

“Good, good. My apologies to our host.”

“Issss no bees trouble for Ssssqueen, but massster sssays no.”

“No? He won't let us eat, is that what you're telling me?”

“Eatsss isss fine. Masster sssayin' you bees comin' down. Issss bad mannersss, Masster Sssabatino sssays …”

“Damned if he does. That's outrageous. We simply won't put up with that.”

“Massster ssayin' you bees bringin' lizard perssson, too.”

“Listen, now-”

Squeen was gone. The door closed again. Or, as well as it ever did.

“Blast the fellow. He goes too far with me.”

“I'm hungry, dear.”

“Me too,” Julia said. “And some say I'm not even alive. Now is that a puzzler or what?”

“Finn …”

“Yes, my dear?”

“I hate to mention this, but since you haven't noticed, I'd better tell you now. We didn't get here with our satchel. I suppose we lost it in our flight. I fear we have no change of clothes, no brushes, no lotions of any sort.”

“Damn me,” Finn said, “I hate to hear that.”

“And what I said before? How I didn't feel any of this was your fault?”

“Yes, and I appreciate that.”

“I'd like to take some of that back. I don't have a thing to wear, Finn, except the same dirty dress. If you don't mind, I'd like to say I blame you for that …”

12

With great reluctance, Finn ushered Letitia down the stairs, hoping the shaky apparatus would hold. Julia, perched on Finn's shoulder, pondered the question that was ever on her brass and ferret mind:

Who am I? Or is it maybe what? And does it really matter? If I think I'm here, I am. Unless, of course, I simply think I think I am, and actually I'm not.

“Quit fidgeting,” Finn said, “What's the matter with you?”

“I believe I'm thinking, is all.”

“Well, don't.”

Finn had hoped that, somehow, things would look entirely different than they had when he'd first come in. If anything, everything was worse. Now, lit with foul-smelling tallows, every spot, stain, rip, tear and snag, every marred, scratched, dust-covered surface, every table, every curtain, every chair displayed its imperfections for everyone to see, like an unattended corpse, like a garbage museum.

Worse still, the dining room table was set with a hodgepodge of dishes, glasses, saucers and bowls; everything broken, everything cracked. Knives without handles, forks without tines, and, Finn was certain, no two of anything alike.

“They could have dusted the table and the chairs,” Letitia whispered in his ear.

“They could have burned the place down,” he whispered back, “but unfortunately it's here.”

“Aha, I heard that,” Sabatino said, appearing from somewhere in shadow wagging a finger in Master Finn's face. “It's hard to get help here, which I shouldn't have to say, since you've seen our lovely town. Those who aren't Hooters or Hatters are scared out of their wits, or feeble in the head. All of the natural servants-no offense, miss- don't seem to like the place. You can't get a Newlie near.”

“How odd,” Letitia said, forcing her very best smile, “how very odd indeed.”

“At any rate, we've got Squeen William, and he keeps everything as tidy as he can. Don't you, good Squeen? Damn your bloody hide, where are you hiding now? Oh, sit, please, anywhere you like. Except that chair, my dear, I fear its legs are partially impaired.”

Letitia moved down a seat, finding the next one not much better than the first. Finn tried in vain to find any tableware in one piece. His cup had no handle. His plate had been broken and glued together again. Not very well, either, since all three pieces were from three different sets.

“I think you'll enjoy the wine,” Sabatino said. “I have a little garden out back, and I make the stuff myself.”

“Oh, really?” Finn took a sip and nearly gagged.

“Interesting, is it not? Nobody makes proper use of turnips anymore. They could if they tried, they're not hard to grow.”

“No. I suppose not.”

Finn set his glass aside. He tried to look at Sabatino, fixing his gaze half a foot above his head. The man had, in his own peculiar way, changed into dinner clothes. Jacket, vest, hat, shirt and pantaloons. A frothy amount of epaulets, lace, flowing sash and tie. Medals you could buy at the fair. The colors, ranging from the top: purple, puce, russet and rose. Crimson, pink, lavender and gold. Lemon, lilac and aquamarine.

“No green,” Finn said, almost to himself.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You don't care for green.”

“Can't stand it. Absolutely loathe it.” Sabatino sniffed. “Fine for nature, though. Looks quite good on a tree.”