The Prophecy Machine (Investments)

by Neal Barrett Jr

  “I meant no offense. All I asked was where could I find a—”

  “I heard what you said. For the life of me, don't go sayin' it again.”

  Rolling his eyes in a most peculiar way, he quickly tossed a cloth across his goods and loosed a cord that dangled overhead. At once a slatted curtain rattled past Finn to the ground.

  “We're closed,” the merchant said, from behind his shabby blind. “All day, and tomorrow as well. Don't come back anytime. I won't be here the day after that.”

  “What's wrong with you?” Finn said. “What did I do? Is there anyone sane in this place?”

  He thrust the blinds aside, ready to give the fellow a piece of his mind. The stall was quite empty, the merchant had fled. Finn was disgusted, totally dashed. It was plain, he decided, that it wasn't the Mycers that set the locals foaming at the mouth. They'd all seen Letitia the day before, and doubtless there were other Mycers here.

  It had to be the name, then: the Rubinella. Clearly, that bothered them a lot.

  “I shall have to approach this some other way,” he told himself. “Rubinella is not too popular here …”

  While no one offered him a smile or bothered to be polite, no one else went out of business when he offered to buy their wares. Finn bought long loaves of bread, overripe tomatoes, hot roasted corn on a stick. Cherries, berries, a crock of pickled cabbage, and a jar of plum jam. Oatcakes, sweetcakes, and sugary treats. Apples so brown and wizened, they all had faces like little old men.

  He didn't buy a single turnip, and he didn't buy a fish. He did buy a straw basket to put his goods in. He didn't buy a thing they'd have to cook. Letitia would surely be delighted. The food would lift her spirits, and she wouldn't be angry for a while.

  Finn was so hungry himself, he ate two loaves of the bread, a great deal of cabbage and most of the jam. He didn't feel bad about eating before he got back. Certainly, Letitia wouldn't fault him for that.

  It was pleasant to see foods of different colors again. Nothing in the market was gray. Nothing looked at all like the horrors that Squeen William served. Neither of the Nuccis seemed aware they ate glop, slop, gunk and toxic swill three times a day.

  If the Hatters and the Hooters and folk who didn't go to church at all had any bias toward Newlies, it was nowhere in evidence here. Finn saw them everywhere. Stout, broad-shouldered Bullies who seldom showed expression beyond a blank stare. Snouters strutting lazily about. No Yowlies so far, and he was thankful for that. Bowsers a-plenty, though, yapping and marching about, wearing those ridiculous boaters Bowsers wore everywhere, getting in everyone's way.

  Even a pair of Dobbins, tall and handsome creatures, with their outsize noses and kindly brown eyes. If there was any station, any rank among the Newlies, the Dobbins would surely be near the top. With the Yowlies at the bottom, by damn, as far as Finn was concerned.

  Of the Favored Nine, those animals the outlaw magicians, Shar and Dankermain, had changed into beings very much like Man, Finn had seen all but one, even the shy elusive Badgie, known for its stealth and criminal enterprise. He had never, ever seen a Grizz, and hoped he never did. They were fierce, antisocial creatures who kept to themselves, mostly in the North. Finn had seen an etching of some, sitting in a forest by a fire. Everyone said that a Grizz loved fire, but no one said why.

  “Now, if I could only find a Mycer, I could leave this odorous place and get back to Letitia, alone in that hideous house …”

  First, though, he knew he'd best purchase another jar of jam and some more oatcakes, as there was little of either left. That, and a gown she could wear, though where he'd find that, he couldn't say. The females here, Newlie and human alike, seemed to favor ill-fashioned garments made of scraps, patches, and snatches of straw.

  Letitia wouldn't care for that. Letitia didn't dote on clothing, but she wasn't fond of sacks. If he could ask someone, if someone had the courtesy to talk instead of sneer …

  “Ah, looking at who is here, looking who is out to see the sights in our most lovely town.”

  Finn stopped, pulling up short as the Foxer stepped right in his path. One, and then another, and another after that, all arriving quickly without the appearance of intent, yet clearly designed to box him in.

  “I fear you're in my way,” Finn said, “I ask you to kindly step aside.”

  The Foxer closest by showed Finn a toothy grin. “He askits we are stepping aside. He fears wes in his way.”

  “In his way,” said the second, who was shorter than the rest.

  “Steps aside,” said the third, who walked with a limp. His voice was a rasp, much like that of his companions, voices that were scratchy and dry.

  Finn had seldom been around Foxers, except for a few at home. Foxers didn't care for the west, they'd mostly settled south. To him, these three looked much alike. Gaunt with red eyes, amber hair and tufted ears, and mean little mouths. Still, the bloody slash across a brow, the scar above an eye, a limp and a twitch, told him he had met this trio before.

  “That's a wicked cut indeed,” Finn said, addressing himself to Short, yet taking in the rest. “I'd get a stitch or two, drink lots of water, and get plenty of rest.”

  Short reached up to touch his scar, thought better of it, and simply glared at Finn.

  “We wishes to tell you,” said Limp, “you listen real good.”

  “No harm will be coming,” Toothy said. “You gets far aways from here.”

  “Far aways,” Short said, “far aways from here.”

  “A most excellent idea,” Finn said. “I've considered that myself. As soon as possible, I'll be gone from here, far across the Misty Sea. Until that time, I've something to say to you.

  “Last night you woke me from a dream of melon pie. One of your lot is quite good with a blade, and the other two are not. None of you are nearly as good as I. Come at me again, by damn, and I'll slice your hairy ears off and have them for lunch.”

  None of the three moved. Limp shook his head. “You might be besting us we have a fight. I'm not believing you eat ourselves, though. We are not foods.”

  “Most clearly we are not,” Short said.

  “What I'm thinking is, that was not a true,” Toothy said. “That was a humor, was it not?”

  “I don't ever do a humor. It was nothing of the sort.”

  “Ah, I see.” Toothy looked at the others. They came to him at once, speaking in low and rusty tones.

  Finn wondered what they'd do if he simply walked away. Still, just because they couldn't tell jokes didn't mean they weren't agile, fast on their feet, cunning and sly. He'd learned that much the night before. They were dressed in ordinary clothes now, shabby vests and pantaloons instead of black. Except for the blades at their sides, they looked harmless and benign. They didn't even smell as they had when he'd fought them in the hall, an odor that was rank, alien and foul.

  All Newlies smelled, some good and some vile. Bullies smelled like grass and sweat. Vampies, Squeen William's kind, had an odor like meat, like mold, like the sickly smell of death.

  Letitia, on the other hand, smelled like musk, like old attic dust. Sometimes she smelled like clover, like brittle winter leaves, like earth turned in the spring.

  Human folk had odors too, odors that offended, or attracted, others of their kind. And what did the Newlies think of human smell? Letitia Louise said Finn smelled nice, or most of the time, and he hoped that this was so.

  “We has come to a decide,” Toothy said, turning to Finn once again. “Our decide is this. We doesn't think you contend against our kind. We doesn't think you do a quarrel. We believes you had a hostile because you was there.”

  Finn felt a sense of relief, but he didn't let it show.

  “What you say is true. I am pleased you understand. It was dark, and there was little time to reason things out. I had no idea who you were, or what you were doing there. It is clear now, you did —you had a quarrel with the Nuccis. I'm not too surprised, but there's no need to go into that. After I'm gone, do f
eel free to break in anytime.”

  Toothy looked at Short. Short looked at Limp.

  “You are a gone? We thinking you are here.”

  “Gone from there,” Finn explained. “Gone from the Nuccis when a ship arrives again.”

  “That is not a gone …”

  “No, that is like a then …”

  “This calls for a change of our decide …”

  “This is not a pleasant,” Short said, “but this is how things is. If you be not a gone when we is coming, you be there again. Best thing to do, wes thinking, is us be sticking you now.”

  “What?”

  “Will you journeys to the alleyway, please? It is plenty darker there …”

  FINN HAD NO TIME TO THINK, NO TIME AT ALL TO blink. All three Foxers drew their blades at once. Finn ducked as Limp shaved the hairs atop his head. Toothy came at him from the left. Finn stepped on his toes and sent him reeling into Short.

  “Lunatics, crazies!” Finn shouted. “I'm stranded in a madhouse here!”

  And, with a solid kick that impaired Toothy's very vital parts, Finn was off and running through the horde, through the rabble, through the packed marketplace.

  The crowd cleared before him, parting like water before a schooner's bow, parting, as any crowd would, before a man howling, growling, shouting out curses in some unholy tongue, clutching his blade and waving it about.

  Bold, short-tempered men, men who liked to have a drink without a lot of noise, hastened to find a brick or a sharp-pointed stick, hastened to stop this brazen oaf. Hastened, then paused, paused and hesitated, mindful of the rage, of the fierce determination in the man's clearly homicidal gaze, mindful of the yelpers and the yappers, of the barking berserkers on his tail. Thinking it wise to stay out of this mess, the stout and burly men shook their fists, dropped their bricks and sticks, and let their anger chase the man instead.

  Finn knew that a man with any sense would let a madman have his way. Especially a loony who came from out of town. Everyone knew they were a dangerous lot, even when they seemed to be sane.

  Turning a corner into a narrow, murky way, Finn stopped in his tracks, stopped and felt his heart beat fast against his chest. A team of worker Bullies, seven, eight, or maybe ten, were dragging an enormous building stone down the cobbled street. Each was a giant among his kind, great ponderous creatures with broad massive chests, and scarcely any necks at all. Each grasped a rope across his shoulder, grasped it in two chunky hands, strained so hard against the burden of the stone that a deep and awesome thrum resounded from their lungs with every step. Their thighs were as big as the torso of an ordinary man, and the veins in their arms were as thick as killer vines curled about a mighty tree.

  Each of the brutes looked solemn and grave, and each wore a heavy ring through his nose, some lost tradition from the past, some rite now centuries old.

  Finn knew he couldn't get through, knew the narrow street could scarcely contain these fellows now. Knew the manic Foxers were howling on his trail. Knew he could beat them one and all if they'd only fight him fair. He paused, took a breath and plunged into the fray …

  He ducked, weaved, scrambled through columns of meat, under crotches, under legs, over bare and smelly feet. The fleshy hulks kicked him, cursed him and growled. Finn gagged and choked, staggered under body odors foul, under flatulent attack.

  Finally, gasping for breath, stumbling to his feet, he came out the other side. The air was still vile, a near visible cloud.

  The streets were close to empty, everyone at market, Finn supposed, leaving their doors and windows open wide. Trusting their neighbors, no doubt, for their goods were so shabby no one wanted whatever lay about.

  The lane here was narrow, narrow and cramped. The stories from one side leaned out drunkenly to meet shaky structures tipping the other way. The street was a tunnel shut off from the sun, a place too wretched to live, Finn thought, unless everyone wore gray.

  The Foxers, he guessed, wouldn't be fool enough to come the way he had. They'd go around and try to cut him off, and they'd know the town better than he.

  Which way, then—left, right, the street that smelled of cabbage, or the one more like a sewer? The sewer, he decided, for a bit more light leaked down through the arches overhead.

  Three more byways, and three dead ends. Finn wished he'd gone the other way—he couldn't keep going, couldn't go back the way he'd come.

  An old woman passed with a bundle of wood, a child strapped tightly to her back. The child stared at Finn in wonder. The woman didn't bother to look his way.

  Finn studied the shop behind him, the building overhead. The shop had a sign that read TALLOWS & LAMPS. The one across the street read CLUB. Another place that wouldn't let him in. Only the people at CLUB could drink there. He was, it seemed, beginning to understand these alien ways.

  He plunged his hand into the basket, coming up with half a loaf of bread. He ate half of that, and put the quarter back. All of the tomatoes were squashed. Getting through the Bullies had ruined all the cherries and the berries, and the sweetcakes had crumbled into shreds.

  He heard the sound of his foes before he saw them, the yipping and the yowling and the stomp of heavy boots, the clatter of buckles and swords.

  He looked to his front, to his left and to his right. Finally, he looked at the arches that loomed up above.

  “Up it is, then,” he said aloud, chiding himself for pausing to eat, “up is the only way there is …”

  The first story up was chunky stone with plenty of handy holds for hands and feet. The second was ancient wood, which rotted and crumbled, and nearly spilled him to the ground.

  Once at the top, he could see a small corner of the market, a blue slice of the sea.

  “The sea would be west. When we were still in open water, the sun always set behind the stern. Except, I think, when we went through Blue Butter Strait. Unless I'm mistaken, the sun on that occasion came up in the south. I knew that couldn't be, and meant to ask about it at the time …”

  Not for the first time, Finn had to sadly confess that he scarcely knew his left foot from his right. That sort of thing was not required for a man in the lizard trade. He surely didn't know his way back to Julia and Letitia Louise. Back to Squeen William and the Nucci maniacs. What he knew was the sound of his pursuers was growing much closer all the time.

  Leaping from one roof to the next was as simple as could be. The thatched, patched, tiled and slatted shops were hardly a quarter inch apart, and often closer still. The clatter of the Foxers was fading with every step he took. Finn, however, knew that he was fading too. His throat was dry as sand. He'd had a little food, but not a thing to drink. If you can't get in BAR or TAVERN or CLUB, there's little one can do.

  He jumped from a roof made of shingles to a roof made of pebbles to a roof made of plaster and sticks. Some roofs were steep, and others were flat. One had a hole that he nearly fell through. A man down below looked up at Finn and stared, said, “What the hell you doin' up there?”

  “Pardon,” Finn said, and noticed the man was cooking an ugly fish.

  Someone shouted and told him to stop. Finn thought it was the man, then saw it was a Foxer running straight at him across the rooftops. Another appeared, then another after that. Then, worse still, three more, and that added up to six.

  “They've brought in help,” Finn muttered. “That doesn't seem right.”

  With a leap and a yell, the nearest foe came at him, twisting his sword in a high and fearsome arc. Finn met him with the flat of his blade, pushed him aside, broke into a run and didn't stop.

  This appeared to anger his pursuers. They jeered and called him names. Finn didn't care. Honor was scarcely an issue here. The Foxers were no great fencers, but six of them would surely bring him down.

  One came at him from the left, two closed in from the right. Finn feinted toward the loner, then surprised them all by going for the pair.

  A moment's hesitation, an instant of surprise gave Finn a small
advantage and he took his foe out, blooding him deeply from his knee down to his thigh. The Foxer gave a cry and stumbled back. Before he hit the roof, Finn turned on his companion—whom he recognized as Toothy—and drove him savagely away.

  Step, slash—step and slash again—

  —and then he was aware of the loner at his back, aware with a start, that his single enemy had turned into four. It struck him, again, this was not the vacation he'd bargained for.

  “Standin' and fight,” said Foxer number one, “face me if yous dare!”

  “We'll not bes harmin' if you do,” said number two.

  “Yes we will,” said three, formerly known as Limp, “that bes what we're here for!”

  “I'm afraid I have to go,” Finn said, “I'm expected somewhere.”

  With a bark and a shout, Limp came at him, driving Finn up the steep slate at his back.

  “What yous gotten in the basket?” Limp said, slashing at Finn's head. “When I bes makin' you deads, I takin' a look inside.”

  “There's not as much as you'd think, but you're welcome to it if I fail.”

  “Hey, failin' you will, for we doesn't welcome strangers to our shores.”

  “If you'd not taken up with Nucci scums, we'd maybe lettin' yous go,” said a Foxer approaching from the right, one he didn't know. “You dids, though, an' we gots to stick you for that.”

  Finn turned from Limp for an instant to drive the newcomer back. The Newlie was better than he'd thought. Instead of retreating, he lunged in quickly and ripped Finn's shirt at the chest, leaving a painful stripe of red.

  “Hah! You'd best bes givin' in,” the Foxer grinned, licking his pointy nose, glaring at Finn with his hateful red eyes. “Yous no match for me, yous only a man!”

  “A lucky hit,” Finn said, “don't count on doing that again.”

  He forced a smile to match his foe's, but the cut hurt him more than he wanted the fellow to know. Without looking back, he retreated up the steep slope, praying he didn't slip on a slat some lazy roofer had failed to nail down.