The Prophecy Machine

46

Finn's return to the house, to the howl and the clamor and the din, to the shriek and the thunder in his head, was the longest journey of his life. Nicoretti's splint, a clever and torturous device, pricked, punctured, pinched his tender flesh, and ground one bone against the next with every agonizing step.

Still, Good ever springs from Bad, lessons Finn learned as a child in the Crafters Church of Meticulous Care. A man who's lost his right hand can give his extra glove to a man who's lost his left. He who's lost his sight can use his books to build a bed. Even Death itself has lasting benefits-Joy, Peace, Love. Or, if nothing else, a very nice nap …

Finn, then, found the excruciating pain in his foot overwhelmed the awesome emanations from the house. Even in the kitchen, where the force from this grim, indomitable machine nearly brought him to his knees, he could tolerate the thing if he kept one foot on the ground.

With desperation as a well-meaning friend, it took Finn little time at all to learn how he might survive in his search for Letitia Louise.

The kitchen was a graveyard of patched, broken, sooty pans and pots. Big pots, little pots, pots of every sort. Kettles made of iron, rusty and red, skillets heavier than lead.

Working with his roll of silver wire, he hurriedly fashioned a garment for the battle to come. The first thing he chose was a thick black kettle for his head. It smelled of Squeen's cooking, but it brought the fierce radiation to a level he could stand.

When he was done, Finn was a kitchen unto himself. Hardly a knight in helm, armor and mail, but one makes do, as they say.

Before he left, he grabbed a collection of knives, some that were reasonably sharp, some that would scarcely cut butter in the sun. A pocketful of candles and a lamp full of fat.

“I'm coming, Letitia,” he said to himself. “Don't be frightened when you see me, love, for I look like a peddler hung with his wares …”

The dining room was in horrid disarray. Table, chairs, dishes and food were crushed into the floor. Finn felt a chill at the sight. The dark extrusion had clearly had its way with the tableware, then rolled into the hall grinding everything to pulp.

The stairs were still intact, no worse than before. He hesitated, drew a deep breath, then ran up as quickly as he could, knowing what a tremor would do if it should catch him there.

Not much more, I suppose, if it catches me anywhere …

The climb took a toll on his foot, but there was little he could do about that. The room where he and Letitia had slept had disappeared. The hallway was full of debris: walls, floors, bits of ratty carpet, everything tattered and shredded.

Through a gap in the wall he saw a familiar path, a way he and Sabatino had come through before.

“What are you up to now?” he said aloud, as if the younger Nucci could hear. “You'd better be minding your affairs and not mine.”

Finn gave little credit to Nicoretti's nasty hint. Sabatino was not after Letitia, Finn was sure of that. Still, it wasn't the kind of drivel he liked to hear-

A shadow crossed the darkness just ahead. Finn stood perfectly still. Nothing. Whatever it was, it didn't move again. He took another cautious step … Then, with no warning at all, the floor ahead buckled, splintered, and vanished in the darkness far below.

Finn wrapped his arms about a post and held on. The wall shrieked as its timbers twisted out of shape, gave way, and tumbled in the pit that had taken the floor in its maw.

No way forward, then. No way back. Only a small crawlway, a tunnel the machine had yet to touch.

No matter where it leads, there's no place else to go …

Dropping very slowly to his knees, he nearly passed out from the pain. His foot didn't much care for the motion, and instantly let him know.

Once down, he was sure he would never move again. The foot was bad enough, without the encumbrance of skillets, pots, kettles and pans.

He made his way slowly, ever aware of the thrumming hum of the frightful machine.

The tunnel opened abruptly into a larger room. Finn inched forward, pushing his lamp ahead. Everything was familiar in a sense. Surely he'd come this way before, or imagined that he did. The wedge of slated roof that nosed out of the floor, the window on the ceiling where a window shouldn't be. Shreds of wallpaper hanging limply from the wall, a shattered bit of doorway that-

“You must be the infamous Master Finn. The one who runs off without a thought for his friends …”

“Julia?”

Finn nearly stood, a poor move at best. “Fleas and Bees, where are you, I can't see a thing!”

“That's because there's not a lot to see. Over to your right. You'll have to come here, I can't come to you.”

“You don't sound right. What's the matter with your voice?”

“Quite a bit. It's hard to know where to begin.”

“I'm not in perfect shape myself. And I did not run off,you know perfectly well. That old man was-Great Frogs and Logs, Julia, what happened to you!”

Finn stared, shaken beyond belief. Shocked, stunned, surprised that the lizard could still be alive.

“Indeed,” Julia said, a shaky rasp to her voice, “I seem to have lost my head. Or, other parts have lost me. Depends on your point of view, I suppose. Finn, you're wearing a lot of pots and pans, but I guess you know that.”

Finn didn't answer. He gazed at Julia, bent nearly to the floor, holding the lamp close to the spot where her head had detached itself from the rest. As a master of his craft, he was fascinated, totally enthralled. As Julia's companion and friend, he was also greatly relieved.

“It's clear I'm even better than I thought,” he said aloud. “Every wire, every spindle, every node detached on impact as it should. Nothing even tore. I made it that way for maintenance, of course. But I never imagined you'd come through something like this. In essence, you could survive quite nicely as a head.”

“Many thanks for the lecture, Dr. Science, now please creep about and find my nether parts. I shouldn't care to be a head alone. Finn, you've got sticks tied to your foot. Part of your costume, I assume.”

“We don't have time for talk. We've got to find Letitia, and get her out of here.”

“We've got to find me,” Julia corrected. “Then we'll look for Letitia Louise …”

47

Even with a great shield of skillets, pans and cooking ware, Finn could feel the power, the draw, the inexorable force of the horrid machine that pulled him ever closer, closer still. Though he refused to give it life, denied it conscious will, he could not but feel the thing had some blind purpose, some dark, unknowing intent.

“It may be, if it sees us,” Finn muttered beneath his breath, “it will think us a dread apparition, more frightful than itself …”

“I hope it sees us,” Julia said, “and no one else, no one who knows us well. I couldn't stand the humiliation, Finn, looking like this.”

“I doubt we'll meet any neighbors from the Street. I shouldn't think the grocer or the cobbler would ply their wares here.”

“It was only a figure of speech, Finn. I've lost my body, but my wit is still intact.”

“As much as ever, I assume.”

“What, what's that?”

Finn didn't answer. A low arch loomed up ahead, and he had to duck low, an act that played havoc with his