The Prophecy Machine

time, leaving Finn to explain a human and a Newlie in fond embrace.

“In truth, though, I did nothing at all.”

“Nothing? Nothing, dear Finn?” She twitched her pretty nose and rolled her ebony eyes. “What you have done, my love, is save me from-from gross despair and madness. You have given me reason to live!”

“No, really, I-”

Letitia suddenly let him go, caught up her skirts and whirled about the small cabin, for an instant baring her lovely legs, always a pleasant sight to see, though Finn had seen them many times, and certainly a great deal more than that.

He was pleased with this sudden leap from the depths of despair to unending joy. Still, he couldn't help but think about getting her back aboard the ship on the morrow. Letitia had chosen to ignore that part of his tale. She would, he knew, recall it soon enough again.

The deck was nearly clear of cargo handlers and passengers when Finn brought Letitia on deck. He carried their small overnight satchel, which Letitia had stuffed near to bursting, even though they would only spend the night ashore.

“It is quite delightful,” Letitia said, gazing at the gray, drab little village that lay beyond the docks. “It looks almost like home, Finn.”

“Ah, yes it does, in a way, I suppose.”

It is nothing of the sort, Finn said to himself, but he knew Letitia would see some beauty in a sewage pool if it was not aboard the Madeline Rose.

As he helped Letitia down the gangway, he looked over his shoulder for the captain, but Magreet was nowhere about. And, though several Yowlies clung to the upper riggings, Letitia, in her elation at going ashore, didn't seem to notice they were there.

The moment Finn and Letitia stepped ashore, the sun dropped behind a bank of clouds, leaving the town in half shadow. Without the harsh and unrelenting light, the crumbling stone and rotting thatch seemed somewhat softer, the drab and muddy shades now partially obscured.

“I don't like it already,” said Julia Jessica Slagg, clinging to Finn's waist beneath his cloak. “It's a damned pesthole is what it is. A canker, a blemish, a dunghill, a dump. A grubby, vile and shabby place, a-”

“Shut up,” Finn said quietly, “There are people all about, I shouldn't have to tell you that.”

Finn hurried Letitia along. As they left the broad wharf for the crowded streets of the town, Finn saw that the grimy shopfronts looked much like those at home, though clearly not as clean.

Finn recognized several passengers among the locals. A fat man who sold bad wine, another, a dealer in jewels who'd shown Finn a glittering array of bracelets, necklaces and rings-all of them, Finn was nearly sure, as false as the man who sold them. He also glimpsed the gaunt, hooded lawyers, now without their charge, the poor lad who now lay far beneath the sea.

And then, for only an instant, at the far end of the street-

Finn felt heat rise to his face. Sabatino Nucci! There was no mistaking that burly frame, startling red hair, and haughty walk. It was, truly, the pompous, arrogant fellow himself. And, as the winds of fortune seemed to shift and blow Finn's way, he saw that Sabatino gripped a heavy piece of luggage in each hand. That, now, was a piece of good news. This horrid little port was, at least for a time, the lout's destination. He would not be coming aboard again!

“What, Finn? Dare I ask what the grinning's all about?”

“Why, nothing but my joy in thinking of our journey to come. Just the happy thought that our holiday will take on a more pleasant mien from now on.”

“How nice of you to keep such thoughts in your head,” Letitia said, pausing to place a hand lightly on his arm. “Are you a man of magic, then? Have you a secret skill I've yet to see?”

Finn caught the sparkle in her eyes, the saucy way she moved her tiny mouth, and knew, at once, she'd put sly meaning to her words with purpose and intent.

“Perhaps,” he told her, “when we find good lodging for the night, I shall show you a most intriguing spell.”

“I would be a most earnest pupil, then.”

“Ah, Letitia …”

Finn stopped. A few steps ahead, a man walked out of an alleyway, boldly in their path. A moment later, another man followed the first. And, from a doorway across the narrow street, another, and still another, appeared.

Each was dressed in drab, filthy tatters, like the rest of the folk about, and few wore shoes of any sort. The only distinction about them-and clearly the only spot of color in their lives-were the high, pointed yellow cones upon their heads. Finn was uncertain whether he should truly name them hats, for he had never seen their like before.

There was one other habit the men held in common between them. Each, independent of the other, walked in a most peculiar way. One walked right into a wall, bloodying his head. After a moment he turned, and walked off to his left. Two of the men walked backwards, then turned and walked forward for a while. One walked three steps forward, then two to the right. This went on until all of the men were out of sight.

“Bottles and Bones,” Letitia said, tightening her grip on Finn's arm. “What do you reckon that's all about?”

Finn didn't have an answer. It was most bizarre to watch, and plainly made no sense at all.

Still, there was one thing he noticed about this strange behavior, and that had nothing to do with the men themselves: anyone who happened to get in their way quickly moved aside to let them pass. It was, Finn thought, as if people feared the touch of these fellows like the very plague itself …

7

“Something is surely the matter with these people, Finn. That is a most peculiar thing to do.”

“Indeed it is,” Finn said. “I have witnessed outlandish behavior before, but nothing quite as odd as this.”

“It might be a rite of some sort. You remember the Kettle Scrubbers Guild, down the hill toward Ranksetter Street? Each would touch his left ear when he chanced to pass another of his kind.”

“I believe it was the right.”

“No, dearest, I am sure it was the left.”

“I expect you're correct,” Finn said, though he knew for certain she was not.

He might have told her, too, though this was not the wisest thing to do, for at that moment, one of the yellow-capped fellows came to a sudden halt in the middle of the street, turned with a jerk, and set his course straight for Letitia and Finn.

Men leaped aside, mothers grabbed their children and held them to their breasts. Finn drew Letitia into the doorway of a shop out of the fellow's path.

“If I lived here,” Letitia said, drawing a startled breath, “I would soon get awfully tired of this.”

“Hmmmmm, yes,” Finn said, more than a little bewildered by the townsfolk's attitude, “but they, it appears, do not.”

With a glance up the crowded street to be certain no other walker was on the way, he turned and opened the shop's heavy door.

“Let's step inside a moment,” he told Letitia, “Perhaps this nonsense will cease in a while.”

The usual sprig of goldberry vine was nailed to the door, a shopkeeper's spell guaranteed to attract those customers with money to spend. As the two stepped inside, they were greeted with the pleasant scent of newly turned wood, the sharp, clear scent of oils and turpentine.

There was little room to stand, as the shop was stacked, racked, overfull with chairs. Big chairs, little chairs, chairs of every sort. Chairs without arms, chairs without backs. Light, airy chairs that would surely shatter if the smallest child were to dare to try and sit. Large, heavy, ponderous chairs designed for the powerful, for emperors or kings, chairs that resembled the trunks of great oaks, carved, chiseled, tangled and entwined with clusters of