The Prophecy Machine

grapes and strangler vines. Still, with all these chairs about, Finn noticed there was absolutely nowhere to sit.

“May I be of service to you, sir? I am Dalto Frick, Master of Chairs, and I don't mind saying I have the finest chairs you'll find in this or any town.”

Finn turned as a very short, very old man suddenly appeared through the maze of chairs across the room. He was dressed in worn red boots and a lavender smock, too large for his wizened frame. His head was entirely bald, and his face was as flat as a pie. Looking at him sideways, Finn could scarcely find any feature at all.

“Your chairs, sir, are the best I've ever seen,” Finn said, “and I've seen quite a few. However, I must confess, I don't think I can use one right now.”

“You can't?” The old man's smile dropped away. “You don't want a chair?”

“It's not that I don't want a chair, it's just that I can't really use one right now.”

“You come in my shop, you don't want a chair.”

“No, good sir, not now.”

“You stand on my floor, where another, righteous, good-hearted man could be standing right now. A man who truly wants a chair. He can't, though, because you are taking up his space. You are standing there.”

“Sir-”

The old man was clearly annoyed. His mouth began to tremble and his eyes began to blink. Finn feared he might have a seizure or a fit.

“We are new in town,” Finn explained with care. “We just got off the ship. As you may have guessed, we are not from here.” He stroked the back of a richly grained chair carved in the shapes of creatures of the deep.

“We were on the Madeline Rose,” he added. “We're just stopping and-”

“That chair you're fondling, getting your oily hands on its finely polished grain, rubbing the finish off-that chair is made of Stonewood, comes all the way from across the Misty Sea. You can't hardly get it anymore-”

“Yes, it's quite-”

“You could take an axe to that chair, you'd split that axe in two, that chair wouldn't have a scratch.”

“Amazing,” Finn said, though he didn't believe it for a moment.

“Two hundred droaks. I'll let it go for one-eighty-five.”

“A bargain at any price,” Finn said, “It's a very fine chair. I was wondering, sir-as I mentioned, we are off the Madeline Rose for the night-I was wondering if you might suggest a good place to stay. A decent, not too pricey inn where they serve a nice supper, and have a good lock on the doors …”

The old man blinked. “A what?”

“An inn.”

“An in what?”

“Not in something. I'm afraid I haven't made myself clear. An inn. A place for bed and supper, where one may spend the night.”

The old man's eyes suddenly shifted to Letitia Louise. It occurred to Finn now that the old man had scarcely glanced her way since they'd come into the store. Now, though, he studied her curiously, looking her up and down, from head to toe.

“What sort of thing do you got here?” he asked Finn. “I don't believe I've seen one before.”

Finn silently counted to three. “Are you speaking of-of my associate, Miss Letitia Louise? Is that who you're speaking of, sir? If it is-”

“I'm speaking of the Newlie you brought in my store. I never heard one called a miss. What kind you say she is?”

“I am a guest in your country,” Finn said, as calmly as his anger would allow. “I will pretend I didn't hear that at all, and I will waste no more of your time.”

“You heard me, all right.” The man showed Finn a nasty smile, and three remaining teeth. “And my answer is, people here stay where they're supposed to stay. They stay where they live. That's what decent people do.”

“Whistles and Frogs,” Finn said sharply, “I didn't ask you for a lecture, I asked you where we might get a bed. Someplace to-”

“Stop. Don't say another word. I'll not hear it!”

The old man backed off. His hands began to shake, but not before he plunged one hand inside his smock, and came out with a string of dead beetles painted red. He pointed the charm toward Finn and rattled it in his face.

“Fine, that's it,” Finn said. “Letitia, let's go.”

“I don't know what your game is,” the old man shouted, “but I'll have none of it, sir. None of it at all. Whatever you and your-creature do in a bed, you'll not find one to cavort in here. We stay where we're supposed to stay, and we don't do ins, whatever that is!”

“Huhhh!” Finn grabbed Letitia's arm and started for the door.

“No you don't, heathen, you're staying right here.”

Finn looked at him. “Now what?”

“I'm getting the Volunteers. They know how to deal with the likes of you.”

“I'll ask you to stand aside.”

“Ask all you want. I'll not move an inch.”

“I think I can lift you and toss you about. I don't want to, but I will.”

“You try it, I'll have you hung, strung, drug out and fired.”

“You'll what?”

“I can do it, too. I've got people in high places.”

“Listen, you little imp …”

Finn reached down, grabbed the man's collar and lifted him bodily off the floor. The old man howled and flailed his short legs.

“Finn-Finn, put him down. Put him down this instant!”

“What?” Finn was so startled by the unfamiliar tone of Letitia's voice that he set the man back on his feet.

“How much do you want for the chair?” Letitia asked. “I won't give you one-eighty-five, I'll give you one-fifty, and not a droak more, whatever that is.”

“Letitia-”

“Shut up, Finn.”

Finn shut up.

The old man gave Letitia a wary look. “One-seventy.”

“One-sixty-five.”

“One-sixty-seven.”

“No.” Letitia shook her head. “Absolutely not.”

“You want the damned chair?”

“Not at that price, sir. I wouldn't dream of it.”

The old man muttered to himself. “One-sixty-six.” He folded his arms and stood his ground. “That is absolutely it.”

“I'll take it.” Letitia stuck out her hand.

“Oh, no you don't.” The man backed away. “I've never touched a creature wasn't human-born, and I don't aim to start now.”

Letitia pretended not to hear. “Finn, would you give the man one-hundred-sixty-six trels? I'm sure they're just as good as droaks.”

“I don't recall buying any chair,” Finn muttered, but he reached in his pouch and counted the coins into the waiting palm of Dalto Frick.

“You've made a fine choice,” the old man said, his face wrinkling into a smile. “That chair'll last a lifetime, sir. That chair will be good as new, long after you're dead and gone.”

Finn glared. The old man wasn't mad anymore. Finn was a customer now, and apparently even the feeble- minded and the morally impure were entitled to a chair if they were willing to pay for it.