The Prophecy Machine

brute stood there blocking his way.

“Watch yourself, sir,” Finn began, “You've no right to just-whuuf!”

The man didn't bother to look. His palm struck Finn in the chest, knocking him roughly aside.

Finn swore, caught himself, and turned in time to see the fellow clutch the boy's jacket in his fist and jerk him off his feet. He shook the poor lad like a rag, then slapped him hard across the face.

The boy howled in pain. His head snapped back, his feet kicking feebly in the air.

“Stinking beast!” The man held the lad close to his face. “I'll teach you to lay hands on your betters. By damn, the day's coming for your kind!”

He took a step toward the railing, raised the Newlie high, held him there screaming, thrashing above his head.

Finn knew, saw how it would happen, saw it as clearly as if it were happening then. He moved in a blur, not even looking at the man, his eyes locked only on the boy. He leaped, grabbed the Newlie's skinny legs and hung on. The man stumbled back and hit the deck hard. He yelled at Finn, but Finn couldn't stop. He walked right over the brute, flailing for balance, much like moving on slippery stones across a creek-stepping on the groin, then the belly, then the head.

Folding the lad between his shoulder and his chest, he ran across the foc'sle past the big foremast to the maindeck below.

“Stay here,” he said, setting the lad down, “Right here. Don't move. No, that's wrong. Don't stay here-go. Go anywhere. Hide.”

“S-sir-”

Finn didn't have to look. He heard the heavy boots, heard the deep and throaty roar. He turned, then saw the man coming, decided he couldn't be that big, nobody could …

3

He glanced about the deck, searching for a weapon, anything at all. Thought, for a second, that he might use Julia, swing her like a club, knew she wouldn't care for that. Besides, he noted, Julia wasn't there. Somewhere in the melee, Julia had disappeared. Fallen, jumped, leapt down a hole. Whatever, she was nowhere in sight. There was no one there but Finn himself, Finn and the Newlie, a wailing, barking, quivering lad behind him, and the ugly, flame-headed lout with murder in his eyes.

“Look, there is simply no reason to behave like this,” Finn said, backing off a step, then backing off again. “I'm sure you were-distraught; simply out of sorts back there. I'm certain you meant no harm to the lad. If you'd just apologize now, I'm sure we can-Pickles and Pots, man, don't do that!”

The short silver blade flicked out of the man's long sleeves, sang a nasty song as it whipped in a swift and killing arc, clipping a brass button from Finn's favorite shirt and sending it rattling 'cross the deck.

Finn sucked in a breath. Before he could get his wits together, the fellow was at him again, leaping, slashing, cutting wicked circles in the air.

There was nothing to do but back up, feint to the right, shift to the left. Back off, do it all again.

And how long could that go on? One man with a weapon, frothing at the mouth, another man without.

“This is a stupid pastime,” he shouted, shuffling to the right as the madman sliced to the left. “This is simply ridiculous, totally inane. This is-Huuuuk!”

Finn's heart nearly stopped as the weapon took another button off his shirt. He backed up, nearly to the bowsprit that arched out over the sea. Once more, the Madeline Rose plunged into the foam, nearly drowning Finn, then rose up swiftly again. Clearly Finn's assailant didn't care for water. He growled in anger, tried to slap the stuff away.

Finn took a moment to catch his breath.

Maybe this lout will break for lunch, he muttered to himself, and while he's filling his belly, I'll run down and get my blade, see how the bugger likes that …

“Rawwwk!” the bully yelled, or words to that effect.

Spilling pools of water, water splashing out his boots, out his pockets, out his nose, he sprang at Finn, forcing him back against the rail. Finn tried to leap aside, but the man was quick for his size. Twice, the blade slashed across his chest, venting his shirt and nearly kissing his skin.

Finn stepped away, hard against the rail with nowhere to go except the churning sea below. He felt the rough touch of the tangled lines at his back. His foe slashed out again. Finn sucked in his belly, grabbed the rail with both hands, and kicked the brute soundly in the head.

The man howled and staggered back. Finn grabbed a line and pulled himself up into the shrouds. Red Hair was on him in a second, climbing up behind, the knife clutched in his teeth.

“Come on, you overgrown lout,” Finn shouted, “get at it or take a nap!”

Bushes and Trees, he said to himself, now why did I have to say that?

He risked a look down, and almost lost his hold. The deck already seemed a mile or so below. The ship yawed to port, jerked him backwards, then shoved him to starboard again, the bully still right on his heels.

Worse yet, the crewmen were all around him now, yowling and howling, hissing and leaping about, sometimes swinging so close he could smell their vile and fishy breath.

“No more of this nonsense,” Finn said aloud, “I'm damned if I haven't had enough!”

He didn't take time to weigh his odds. He jumped, caught a line and pulled himself aft, hand over hand, to the thick mainmast. There, several lines ran straight down to the deck. The big man cursed him, but he didn't look back. He closed his eyes until his boots touched wood again. The trip nearly burned his hand raw, but he was down, and-

— so was the double-ugly lout. Finn could scarcely believe his eyes. The monster had taken the longer way down, climbing back the way he'd come. Still, he hit the deck running and raced after Finn.

“Tomatoes and Toads,” Finn groaned. He took one look at the fellow, then turned and sprinted aft. Almost at once, a figure blurred to his right, a figure with a great plumed hat atop his head.

Finn stopped and turned back. His foe was sinking to his knees. His mouth dropped open and his hands hung loose along his sides. Captain Magreet, in glorious regalia, stood over the man with a wooden belaying pin gripped in his hand.

“A nasty customer,” Magreet said, looking up at Finn. “I hate like the devil to sap a payin' passenger, but this isn't the first time, I'll tell you that.”

Finn kept a cautious distance from the fellow on the deck. He was still on his knees, eyes rolled back in his head.

“I'd say he's lost his senses. Either that, or someone's got him in a spell.”

“No magic to it,” Magreet said, leaning over to spit into the sea. “This fellow's plain mean. He's one of the Nucci clan, they're all a nasty lot. You hurt, are you, lad? If you are, why, I've got a potion below that'll fix you up fine.” He cast a wink at Finn. “Take the pain away, clean out your liver and everything besides.”

“Thank you, Captain, I'm fine.” He'd never heard of the Nuccis and didn't care to ask. “That boy, now, he could use some help.”

“Ah, now I expect he'll be fine.” He glanced at the boy who still sat cringing by the mast. “Those Newlie folk are tougher than you think. I guess that's likely enough, seeing what they were before …”

The captain paused and grinned at Finn. “Now why am I telling you for, sir? You'd know better than me, seeing as you got one yourself.”

Finn was seething inside, but he'd learned to keep his feelings off his face.

“If you'd seen what happened, sir, you wouldn't dismiss it so lightly. This-this lunatic here committed wanton assault on the lad. Tried to kill him, quite frankly.”

Magreet frowned. “Now that's strong talk you're layin' on me, Master Finn.”

“I was here, Captain. He damn near killed me.” Finn took a breath. “Look at him, sir. Tell me he's fine.”

Magreet cleared his throat. “Well, I suppose not entirely fine. Slightly beaten, possibly bruised you might