The Prophecy Machine

12

With great reluctance, Finn ushered Letitia down the stairs, hoping the shaky apparatus would hold. Julia, perched on Finn's shoulder, pondered the question that was ever on her brass and ferret mind:

Who am I? Or is it maybe what? And does it really matter? If I think I'm here, I am. Unless, of course, I simply think I think I am, and actually I'm not.

“Quit fidgeting,” Finn said, “What's the matter with you?”

“I believe I'm thinking, is all.”

“Well, don't.”

Finn had hoped that, somehow, things would look entirely different than they had when he'd first come in. If anything, everything was worse. Now, lit with foul-smelling tallows, every spot, stain, rip, tear and snag, every marred, scratched, dust-covered surface, every table, every curtain, every chair displayed its imperfections for everyone to see, like an unattended corpse, like a garbage museum.

Worse still, the dining room table was set with a hodgepodge of dishes, glasses, saucers and bowls; everything broken, everything cracked. Knives without handles, forks without tines, and, Finn was certain, no two of anything alike.

“They could have dusted the table and the chairs,” Letitia whispered in his ear.

“They could have burned the place down,” he whispered back, “but unfortunately it's here.”

“Aha, I heard that,” Sabatino said, appearing from somewhere in shadow wagging a finger in Master Finn's face. “It's hard to get help here, which I shouldn't have to say, since you've seen our lovely town. Those who aren't Hooters or Hatters are scared out of their wits, or feeble in the head. All of the natural servants-no offense, miss- don't seem to like the place. You can't get a Newlie near.”

“How odd,” Letitia said, forcing her very best smile, “how very odd indeed.”

“At any rate, we've got Squeen William, and he keeps everything as tidy as he can. Don't you, good Squeen? Damn your bloody hide, where are you hiding now? Oh, sit, please, anywhere you like. Except that chair, my dear, I fear its legs are partially impaired.”

Letitia moved down a seat, finding the next one not much better than the first. Finn tried in vain to find any tableware in one piece. His cup had no handle. His plate had been broken and glued together again. Not very well, either, since all three pieces were from three different sets.

“I think you'll enjoy the wine,” Sabatino said. “I have a little garden out back, and I make the stuff myself.”

“Oh, really?” Finn took a sip and nearly gagged.

“Interesting, is it not? Nobody makes proper use of turnips anymore. They could if they tried, they're not hard to grow.”

“No. I suppose not.”

Finn set his glass aside. He tried to look at Sabatino, fixing his gaze half a foot above his head. The man had, in his own peculiar way, changed into dinner clothes. Jacket, vest, hat, shirt and pantaloons. A frothy amount of epaulets, lace, flowing sash and tie. Medals you could buy at the fair. The colors, ranging from the top: purple, puce, russet and rose. Crimson, pink, lavender and gold. Lemon, lilac and aquamarine.

“No green,” Finn said, almost to himself.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You don't care for green.”

“Can't stand it. Absolutely loathe it.” Sabatino sniffed. “Fine for nature, though. Looks quite good on a tree.”

“Do you mind, sir,” Letitia asked, carefully leaning forward in her chair, “if I ask a question? I mean, if you please.”

Sabatino's eyes flashed, his interests mirrored there in greasy candlelight. “Anything, my dear. Whatever comes to mind.”

Finn allowed him a deadly look, which Sabatino chose not to see. Letitia held her question while Squeen limped in with a ghastly, transparent soup, and a great, faded silver fish with glazed, astonished eyes; a fish still startled, still stunned by the stroke of bad luck that had clearly ruined its day.

“I do not wish to pry,” Letitia said, staring in wonder at something in her soup, “I see you are a man of position and wealth with everything a person could desire. May I dare inquire just what it is you do?”

“Why, of course you may,” Sabatino said, leaning back with a hearty laugh, a wink and half a leer. “As it happens, I don't do anything, miss. I travel at times, as you know. But mostly I stay right here-as you so graciously pointed out-in the comfort of my lovely home.”

“Yes, how nice.” Letitia gazed at her soup again, certain now that something in there moved. “Still, I would say you stay quite busy, what with violence and rebellion all about. I don't know if I could live in a land so sorely torn by strife.”

“Strife, miss?” Sabatino looked puzzled, slightly annoyed, as if Letitia had committed some minor offense. “I'm guessing, now, you're referring to the spiritual life practiced here. I should hardly call what you witnessed today strife.”

Finn set down a broken spoon. “Spiritual life? I'm sure I didn't hear you right.”

“Why, you did, for a fact. We practice liturgy, ceremony, varied sacred rites. All of which are, I believe, common to religious institutions everywhere.”

“Not everywhere,” Letitia said.

“Oh?” Sabatino folded his hands beneath his chin. “So you are saying, I believe, that religion in your land is superior to that practiced in mine?”

“Ah, no, not at all, sir.” Letitia looked to one of the many heavens for help. “Some are less aggressive in nature, I have to say that. Not so much slaughter, torture, moaning and such. That sort of thing.”

Sabatino waved her words away. “Lame, insipid-boring, you mean.”

“Some of us like it that way.”

“Yes, I'm sure you do. And if you don't mind, may we set this subject aside? Our ways are best. Yours are clearly not. Let's talk about you, Master Finn. And you too, of course,” Sabatino added with a sly, deliberate glance at Letitia Louise. “And that marvelous creation of yours. The, uh-what? The grizzard, yes?”

“Lizard, I believe.”

“Yes, whatever. What did you say it did, now? Except speak, of course, and give a good showing of itself in a fight. Aside from that, what exactly is it for?”

“No, a moment, please …” Letitia daintily dabbed her lips with the tip of her finger, as there were no napkins of any sort.

“I don't mean to be rude, but I have just gone through the most terrifying day of my life, and you have dismissed all that as no great incident at all. We nearly lost our lives during one of your sacred rites, and I am damned-I beg your pardon, I do not ordinarily use foul language, as Finn will testify-but I am damned if I can understand what happened out there. Your father came very close to torture and death, and yet you condone this sort of thing? Why? It makes no sense to me.”

“No reason why it should, lady, no earthly reason at all …”

Letitia turned to see Sabatino's father stumbling down the stairway and into the dining hall. Two steps left, and then another right where he knocked a vase of very dead flowers to the floor.

Sabatino's features froze into a mask. “I think you would be more comfortable in your rooms, Father. You've had a trying day. I shall send Squeen William up with soup and fish.”

“Bugger your fish, boy.”

The old man staggered to the table and gave his two guests a crooked grin.

“Master Finn, is it not? And the very lovely whatsher-name.”

“Letitia,” Finn said, rising slightly from his chair. “I'm pleased you're feeling better, sir.”

“Yes, well, I'm not. Never felt worse, not that anyone in this house cares. Calabus. Calabus Nucci. We were never properly introduced. Put your hand away, please. I never touch people without a protective device of some sort. Terrible disease is spread through the flesh, through the very air itself.”

“I never heard that,” Finn said.

“Likely much you've never heard, boy. I doubt your knowledge extends too far beyond your craft. Few men have the will to extend themselves past their meager needs.”

“You might be wrong in that, sir.”

“Oh, now don't take offense. From what I've seen of your work, I'd guess you're a bloody genius in your field. Likely know your numbers, but I doubt you've read a book. Damn you, Sabatino, I loathe things that live in the sea. Squeen! Get me something else, you mange-headed brute! Bring me some food fit to eat!”

“Father, if you intend to stay, sit.”

“Not that chair, sir,” Letitia warned, “I understand it's unfit.”

“Nothing works in this place. You can thank my worthless son for that.”

Calabus found another chair, pulled it up and sat. Downed a mug of turnip wine, and filled it up again. Squeen limped in, looking like old clothes left out in the rain. He set something down in front of Calabus and hastily left. Finn stared at the old man's plate, and never looked that way again.

If the son, he thought, had abused every color in nature, and many that were not, the father had balanced the books. Calabus seemed content with shredded tones of gray from head to toe. Whatever he'd been drinking upstairs, most of it had dribbled down his vest.

“The answer to your question, miss,” the old man went on, as if not a moment had passed, “is that people act the way they do in this sorry country because they don't know any better. Yokels and fools, every one. I ought to know, I'm a former fool myself. Pass that wine around, will you, Master Finn? Damned if this isn't a vintage year.

“Used to be just ceremony. Flog your neighbor, punch an eye out. No one minded that. Now you've got to pay the bastards off. Richer you are, the worse it gets. I've been taken twenty-two times, you believe that? Nobody else has got any money here.”

Calabus took a bite of something brown, and glared at his son. “Took you long enough today, boy. Don't let it happen again. That Newlie you got there, Master Finn? Could she take off her clothes? By damn, I'd like to see that.”

“What?” Letitia turned three slightly varied shades of white.

“I don't much care for the manner of your speech,” Finn said. “It scarcely seems polite.”

“True, Father. You don't ask questions like that.” Finn thought Sabatino spoke with little conviction at all. He seemed to have a vision in his head.

“She's a Newlie,” Calabus said, spitting a morsel on the floor. He grinned at Letitia as if he'd truly seen her for the very first time. “You're a Mycer, right? You and me are going to talk, girl. We're going to get along fine.”

“No sir, you're not.” Finn pushed his plate aside. He'd eaten a bite of bread, and scarcely anything else. “Letitia, if you're finished?”

“I haven't even started, Finn. Do you imagine I'm going to eat a fish?”

“You can eat tomorrow, dear. When we get back to the ship.”

Letitia thrust out her chin. “I'll die before that. And I don't care what he says, all right? It doesn't bother me.”

“Well, it bothers me. If you're not going to eat, we're leaving, dear. I don't care for the company here.”

“I hope you and he are going to fight,” Calabus said, grinning at his son. “That's another thing I'd like to see.”

“Master Finn and I will settle our differences,” Sabatino said. “I loathe the lout, and he feels the same about me. Tonight, though, we won't go into that. As much as I despise it, I'm in the fellow's debt.”

Sabatino turned to Finn, offering a wide, and thoroughly insincere smile. “I insist, sir, before you leave our table, you give us a little display of your, ah-”

“Lizard. We've been through this before.”

“I'd like to see that,” Calabus said, his mouth not working right, his eyes beginning to cross.

“There's really very little to see. It's simply a mechanical device. Mostly made of copper, iron and tin. As you mentioned, it bites.”

“It speaks as well,” Sabatino said. “Might it do that?”

“No, it will not.” Finn made no effort to hide his growing irritation. “As you said, we do not care for one another. I don't see why we must play this ridiculous charade. My lizard is none of your concern. Neither is Letitia Louise. We are grateful you have taken us in, but I don't see we owe you an evening's entertainment for that. If you wish to satisfy our quarrel, I'll oblige you in the morning before we go.”

“I've got a-a marfel-marvelous invent-invention of my own, you know,” Calabus said, soup dribbling down his chin. “A craf-craf'sman like yourself would 'ppreciate seeing it, I know …”

“Father, shut up. Now!”

Finn had seldom seen a man filled with such rage. Sabatino's whole body trembled, and his features turned a brilliant shade of red, a color that did nothing to enhance his ghastly attire. Whatever the old man had said, his son wasn't far from a full-blown seizure or a stroke.

Calabus, however, had missed his son's fury, and gone to sleep instead.

Squeen William chose this moment to drag himself past the kitchen door.

“Desssert be ready, sssir. I be ssserving now?”

“Get out of here,” Sabatino shouted, shaking the table with the ball of his fist. “Out, or I'll skin your filthy hide!”

“What are we having?” Letitia said. “I mean, if it's not impolite to ask.”

“Whatever it is,” Sabatino said, “it isn't alive. At least I've cured the fellow of that …”