“For once,” Finn said, “you did exactly what you should have done. If you had joined the fray, they'd all know now you are neither an ornament nor a toy. We've been through this before. Many people are not quite ready for talking hunks of tin.”
“Hunks of tin, is it?”
“So to speak. I suppose one could word it another way.”
“Surely one could.”
“Do not be quick to take offense, Julia. I am not in the mood for this.”
“Don't be quick to give it, then. I've got feelings too, you know.”
“Yes, I do know,” Finn said with a sigh of resignation, not far in truth from a sigh of regret. “Whatever came over me to fill you with emotions, like a baker squeezing custard into a tart? I must have been reeling drunk to do such a fool thing as that.”
“You were quite sober, as a fact,” Julia said. “A glorious moment, a brilliant achievement, the high point of your life, the—”
“That's quite enough. Be still, now, I'm taking a nap.”
“Then I will too.”
“We are both aware that you can't do that.”
“Sleep well,” Julia yawned. “I shall wake up promptly at six …”
WITH THE SETTING OF THE SUN, THE SEA HAD changed from a very pleasant blue to a most unseemly green. The wind was up, having its way, blowing from the south for a moment, then shifting to the west. Crossways, sideways, this way and that. All this mischief played havoc with the Madeline Rose. The crew would get the sails set properly, the wind would swiftly change, and howling, hissing, knocking one another about, they'd swarm into the rigging once again.
Captain Magreet stood on his quarterdeck shaking his fists, cursing the crew as the crew cursed him, shouting out orders that changed from one moment to the next.
“In for bit of a blow, are we, Captain?” Finn asked. “Smells like rain to me.”
“Ah, does it now?” Magreet sent him a withering look. “So you're a master of gizzards, and a master of storms as well?”
“Lizards, it is. And I meant no disrespect, sir. It was merely an effort to be polite.”
Magreet spat a gobbet at the deck. “Well, take your bloody manners somewhere else. I've no use for them here.”
“Indeed,” Finn said, “I can see, at the moment, you're somewhat distracted. I appreciate that.”
The captain turned and stomped away, mumbling to himself. Finn walked forward past the great mainmast, which was thick as an ancient tree.
There was no one else on deck, no passengers, at least. That suited Finn fine. He didn't need company, especially the unfriendly Nucci, and the pair of scarecrows. And, to be honest, he didn't want to be with Letitia for a spell.
As ever, he chided himself for such a thought. Though he knew it wasn't so, he could not abide the idea that he might, as so many others did, harbor some small intolerance for what Letitia's folk had been.
It was not the wisest thing a man could do, falling in love with his Newlie housekeeper, taking her for a wife. Not in legal terms, of course, for what he'd done was a felony, a criminal act, one that could cause a careless man to lose his head. Everyone knew there were men—and very likely women too—who had quite intimate relations with one of the Newlie kind. No one said anything about it, of course; one simply looked the other way.
On the whole, Finn had to admit, beasts should never have been changed into men. It was no great favor to the world, and a tragedy to the creatures themselves. He thought of the sad, sometimes hopeless look in Letitia's dark eyes: a look that held the sorrows and the fears all her kind brought with them from the past.
Letitia was mostly a woman, and a breathtaking woman at that, but she would always be a part of what she'd been. Her kind were not animals now, but they would never, ever be human.
Shar and Dankermain, the great seers who'd cast that unholy spell three hundred years past, had paid very dearly for their crime, for the sin of creating the Nine. Why they did such a deed went with them to the grave, but the spawn of their magic was left behind.
And why, the thought came to Finn, as it often did at such a time, why did you do the same? What's your reason, Master Finn?
He had asked himself the question a hundred times past, for he, like the two mad seers, had broken a law of nature himself, giving life and reason to a thing of brass and tin. Given his creation the brain of a ferret, a poor creature caught in a trap and nearly dead.
And why? For much the same reason, he supposed, that the rebel magicians had crossed the line themselves. Though his was no act of magic, he, like the seers, had done what he did because he had the art—because he had the talent, because he had the flair. He had dared the act of creation simply because he could.
The wind was high now, snapping, cracking in the sails, whining through the shrouds, scattering foam atop enormous dark waves. The sailors, Finn noted, had set cheap weather amulets and charms in the rigging—a rattle of bones, strings of shiny stones, pots, pans, bundles of colored sticks, bloodwood dolls and dead leather toads.
And even above the shriek of the wind, the captain, legs set as solidly against the deck as if they'd sprouted there, could be heard yelling and cursing at his horrid crew.
“Set the headsails!”
“Man the halliards!”
“Keelhaul the bos'n!”
“Get aloft there!”
“Let fly the jib!”
That, Finn imagined, or something wholly different, he couldn't say for sure. It all sounded quite the same to him.
By the time he reached his quarters, the storm was full upon them—a gale, a blow, a raging hurricane, a loud and frightful thing that tossed the ship about like a stick of rotten wood.
Still, Letitia stayed fast asleep. Fear and exhaustion had finally brought her down. And, in a corner of the cabin he could see Julia there, two ruby flares of light, crimson points of fire in the night.
Slipping off his clothes, he slid in gently beside Letitia and took her in his arms. She made little sounds in her sleep, and curled into him like a spoon. Her warmth, her touch, the satin feel of flesh next to his nearly set him afire. He desperately wanted her then, to fully share their love, to light the passion between them.
Instead he held her, let her sleep, touched the tiny pulse in her breasts, listened to her breathe. He was certain he couldn't sleep, sure he'd have to stare at the ceiling all night, listening to the shriek of the storm. All of which he did for a minute—or a minute and a half.
Something brought him up out of sleep, he couldn't say what. The storm was weaker now, but the Madeline Rose still bobbed about.
Voices. Out in the passageway. Two or three people, maybe four. He pulled on his trousers and opened the door. Three men stood there, two short and one tall, passengers he might have seen before.
“What is it,” he asked, “what's going on here?”
“Someone's come up missing, can't find him anywhere,” the short man said, squinting past Finn to see if he kept the pretty Newlie in his bed.
“Who? What are you talking about?” He blocked the man's way, came out and shut the door. “Missing from where?”
“That young Foxer,” one of the others said. “The one that got hurt up there.”
Finn felt a chill in his heart. No. Make it not so …
“Aren't you the one makes blizzards? The fellow got the tar beat out of him today? Say, weren't you—”
Finn was already gone. He took the steps topside four at a time. Suddenly, the captain was there at the top of the hatchway, his bulky figure in the way.
“I'm not needing your help here, Master Finn,” Magreet said, “Get on back where you belong.”
“Who did it?” Finn demanded. “Those skinny lawyers or that devil Sabatino, which?”
“Damn you, mister, you're not listening to me!”
“Get out of my way, Captain.”
“Or what, sir? If I do not, sir, what might you do then?”
In a flash of faraway lightning, Finn saw t
he captain's eyes. No rage, no fury, no feeling at all, only cold determination and will. More than that, he was suddenly aware that there was a pistol, a nasty-looking weapon with a bell-shaped muzzle, clutched in Magreet's heavy hand.
“Now, Master Finn, if you'd go back down as I said …”
“Don't go any further with this,” Finn said. “Don't point a weapon at me.”
Magreet, showing no expression at all, raised his pistol and pressed the muzzle against Finn's chest. Finn heard the cold, distinct sound of a metal hammer drawing back. He knew, in that instant, that under that ridiculous hat there was still a pompous fool, but one who would just as soon kill a man as swat a bothersome fly.
“I don't feel I can reason with you,” Finn said. “I don't think you're in a rational state of mind.”
“I think you'd be right on both counts, Master Finn,” the captain said. “I'm near certain that you are …”
He sat in the dark in a chair against the cabin's outer bulkhead, near the sound of the churning sea. He was certain he wouldn't sleep now. He felt no anger, no shame in backing down from Magreet. The man was an elemental force, like the very storm itself. The sea and the wind didn't think, they simply did. And that, Finn reasoned, was how the captain stayed alive, how he kept his crew of nasties from killing him in his sleep.
The fury, the rage, the sorrow in Finn's heart was for the death of the Foxer boy. Whoever had done the deed had simply tossed the lad away, like a thing no longer useful, a tool, a device, a thing that didn't work anymore. What a thoughtless, chilling thing to do! And, in the world Finn lived in, not a shocking act at all.
After giving the matter thought, Finn believed the couple who'd held the boy had brought about his death. They were the ones who'd worked him until he was useful no more. Sabatino Nucci would toss a Newlie away without a blink, but he had no reason to do so.
It didn't matter who'd done the deed, it was done. For an instant, Letitia's face replaced the image of the boy in Finn's mind. With a shudder, he quickly swept the terrible picture away …
He could not recall how long he'd been sitting there, whether he'd been awake, whether he'd slept or dreamt. He couldn't say what compelled him to stand, pull himself up and peer through the small porthole in the cabin wall.
It was there, or it was not, he couldn't truly tell—a great, black vessel, a vessel so big, so dark, it swallowed the very sea and sky itself. Yet for all its size, it made no sound at all. And even though it seemed a massive thing, it was clear to Finn that it had no bulk, no weight of any kind. It was plainly a spectral craft, a vessel of shadows, a ship with skeletal masts and tattered sails, a chill and hollow vessel, as cold as death itself.
And if Finn needed further assurance that no living creature sailed upon this craft, a dead man raised a wispy arm from that cold quarterdeck, and sent a ghostly greeting across the dark sea …
FINN DREAMED. He dreamed about a lot of things he didn't ever want to dream again. He dreamed he was sizzling, broiling, frying in a pan. Someone was having him for lunch. Someone was hungry, someone who didn't care to wait till he was done.
He woke up flailing, thrashing, and kicking about in a pool of salty sweat. He sat up with a start to find a lizard patiently gnawing on his leg.
“Custard and Clams,” Finn exclaimed, kicking out at Julia, sending her skidding across the room. “What in holy hell's wrong with you?”
“You break it, you fix it,” Julia said. She flicked her scaly tail, shook her tinny head. Everything seemed to be in place.
“You snore like a storm, and sleep like the dead. If it wasn't for me—Custard and Clams, indeed. Get your big feet on the floor. Look out that porthole and tell me what you see.”
“Why would I want to do that?”
“Don't, then. Lie there and roast in the heat.”
Finn muttered to himself, then padded across the floor and squinted out the small, salt-encrusted window at the hot and brassy sea. He blinked and looked again. Unless his eyes deceived him, there was no sea in sight. Neither brassy nor hot, not any sea at all. Instead, he saw a rotting wooden wharf, piled high with barrels, boxes and crates. Scattered with garbage, overripe fruit, swill, slops and waste of every sort. The smell was a horror, and the air was thick with swollen green flies.
Beyond the sordid dock was a grim and dirty town full of narrow, high-roofed houses, all crammed and choked up together like weeds. A great horde of people, none more attractive than the next, crowded the cobble alleyways. It was, truly, an awful sight to see. It made Finn yearn for the simple but clean byways of Ulster-East, the quiet of his own Garpenny Street. He even missed the dull sound of cannon down the bay, the colorful war balloons soaring overhead.
“Great Apples and Pears,” Finn said, “What sort of place is this? We're not supposed to be anywhere, we're supposed to be at sea!”
“Well, I'm certain that we're not,” Julia said. “Land and water are not at all alike.”
“As ever, I'm grateful for your help,” Finn said, frowning at the ruby-eyed creature who'd climbed atop a chair. “I don't know where we are, but I mean to find out.”
Struggling into trousers while hunting for his shirt, he glanced at Letitia Louise. She was still sound asleep, her fine ashen hair a silken veil across her cheek. The sun painted golden stripes across her bare and lovely back.
“I'll talk to the captain,” Finn said, turning away from the sight, “I'll get an answer to this.”
“Good idea,” said Julia Jessica Slagg, “that's what I'd do myself.”
The deck was crowded with people. Cargo and luggage were scattered all about. Enormous, hulking Bullies, broad-shouldered Newlies with short, stumpy knobs atop their heads, glassy eyes and massive necks stalked up and down the gangway bearing heavy barrels and crates. Many wore golden rings in their noses, many had lewd tattoos.
Finn found Captain Magreet on his quarterdeck, shouting, shaking his fists, cursing at everyone in sight. His officer's hat was askew, feathers and plumes sagging limply in the heat.
“I want to know exactly where I am,” Finn demanded. “I want to know why we're stopping here.”
Magreet gave him a single sour glance. “Get away from me, sir. Get out of my sight.”
Finn stepped in front of the captain, blocking his view of the bustle down below.
“I merely asked, Captain, where we are and why. As a paying passenger, I have every right to information such as that.”
“Hah! That's what you're thinking, now, is it? What damn fool told you that?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Move it there,” Magreet shouted, pushing Finn gently aside, “Get busy, you vile, odorous, good-for-nothing beast, or I'll have the flesh peeled off your back!”
One of the Bullies made a deep, rumbling sound in his chest, gave the captain a murderous glance, and moved no faster than before.
A pair of Yowlie crewmen teased the big fellow, scampering about in his path. The Bullie lashed out with one stout foot, but the Yowlies were too quick for that.
“Can't stand the ugly brutes,” Magreet said, “They'll turn on you faster'n a southern squall. Damn me, are you still here, Finn? What the devil is it now?”
“Same as before, Captain. I'd like to know where I am, why we're stopping here.”
“Makasar. Port of Nakeemo. Sour oats, red beer. Tar and fertilizer, plus a couple dozen other lovely scents, is what you're smelling now. That, and the local damned un-bathed population out there.”
Finn shook his head. “My ticket says nothing about a port of call. Not anywhere at all.”
“ 'Course it doesn't.”
“What?”
“You deaf or what, boy? Your ticket's going to say where you're going. You aren't going somewhere, it isn't going to say.”
“That's ridiculous. If the ship's going to stop somewhere—”
Magreet granted Finn a patient sigh. “A passenger coming here don't have a ticket says where you're going, sir. None of his damn
business. Isn't your business where he's headed for.”
“Captain, my—servant-companion is not overly taken with the sea. How many more stops will we make before we reach Antoline Isle? I would simply like to know that.”
“You would, would you? An' why's that?”
“Why? Because I—” Finn took a breath. “All right, how long will we be here? When will we leave?”
“Overnight.”
“Overnight?”
“What did I just say? I believe that's what I said. We sail again on the morrow, out with the morning tide.”
“Fine. That is what I asked. You could have said that in the first, sir, and I'd have been long gone.”
Magreet didn't answer. He was scowling at a large Bullie who had dropped a barrel on the rocky quay. The barrel burst open, and something dark and oily ran out.
“You'll pay for that, you lout,” Magreet yelled, “It'll come right off of your back!”
“In that case,” Finn said, “we shall be spending the night ashore. It will be a great relief to get out of the heat for a while.”
… It'll give poor Letitia a chance to settle her nerves, he said to himself, and get something decent to eat.
“I don't suppose there's some rule you haven't bothered to tell me about,” he said aloud. “I won't have to buy another ticket to get back on again.”
The captain looked bewildered. “Are you daft, man? Who ever heard of such a fool thing as that? Meanin' no offense, Master Finn, but I don't see how you landsmen have the wits to piss and eat, and keep yourself clean. Damned if I do …”
“Oh, how I adore you, Finn! Finn, my sweetness, my darling, my very own love. You are truly the most wonderful man in the world!”
“I appreciate the thought,” Finn said, making no effort to fend off the moist and tender kisses Letitia showered upon his face. This, in spite of the fact that a passenger or crewman might walk into the cabin at any time, leaving Finn to explain a human and a Newlie in fond embrace.
The Prophecy Machine (Investments) Page 3