The Prophecy Machine

44

It only hurt for an instant. Then everything was gone and it didn't hurt at all. When he opened his eyes, the pain was still there and he wasn't where he'd been.

“Ah, you are with us, I am happy to see. You are feeling fine again?”

Finn scowled up at Sabatino through the sharp and screaming pain. “No, I am not feeling fine. Why did you pick me up, you damn fool, don't you know any better than that? You don't pick up a man who's broken several bones, you could kill him like that.”

“I take offense,” Sabatino said. “From a brother in arms, I expected more gratitude than this.”

“Oh, well, now I understand.”

“I felt we should distance ourselves from the house. I didn't think it was safe to leave you there.”

“You did this for me?”

“Well, no, that's not quite true. You see how close we are? You can see right through me, Finn. When your leg feels better, you and I together, we'll retrieve the house. Which is rightfully mine, of course. Father's in no condition to make decisions of any sort. And, of course, you'll want to try and get Letitia out. I feel there's little hope, but of course you must try.”

“I think I worry when you don't lie,” Finn said. “And don't say I won't get her out, because I will.”

“You should try and stand now,” Sabatino said, leaning down to help, “get used to moving a bit.”

“Don't come any closer-get away from me …”

He turned, then, as he felt the tremor moving through the earth, felt the rumble, felt the beat, like some gigantic heart. Sabatino had carried him a hundred paces or more, but it was clearly not enough. The power, the terrible tug of the thing was weaker here, but it was there. And how far would it go, what would it do when it grew beyond the house?

Finn felt a chill as the words of the seer came to mind. There was more to that dark device than a madman's dream. Calabus' father had created the thing, but there was magic there as well, a spell of such power that it struck out at anyone who threatened the machine.

And what has it done to you, Letitia? Has it stolen your soul, has it taken your mind? If I find you, my dear, what then will you be …?

“Finn, look. Over there.”

Finn started, then followed Sabatino's eyes. Someone was coming down the road. Not just someone, more like everyone-everyone who lived in that foul, odorous, unfriendly village was apparently on the march, coming their way.

“Damn them all,” Sabatino muttered, “just what I need, a bunch of interfering fools. They've got no right coming here.”

“Maybe they want to help,” Finn said. “You could use a little right now.”

“Help? That herd of idiots?” Sabatino laughed, or possibly sneered. “They're more pitifully inept than you are, Finn. And you're scarcely any use at all.”

Sabatino muttered beneath his breath. Clenched his fists and ground his teeth. He didn't like anyone at all, and surely didn't like them more than one at a time.

It was indeed, Finn thought, a curious caravan. Most of the folk were on foot, but in their wake were several carts, carts with outlandish high wooden wheels. Pulling the carts were teams of Bullies with ropes about their chests, tugging their burdens in step.

Whoever the people in the carts might be, they were far more comfortable than the struggling teams. Each wagon was covered with a canopy shade held aloft by wooden poles. There might, Finn thought, be drink and fresh cakes inside.

He felt the carts looked familiar, felt, with a touch of apprehension, he had seen them before, and of a sudden, knew exactly where. Just such a cart had delivered Sabatino's father in a cage to Market Square.

“Who are they?” Finn asked, for Sabatino was scowling at the caravan as well. “What are they doing here?”

“What they always do,” Sabatino said. “Mind other people's business, stick their big noses in everyone's affairs, snoop around where they aren't welcome, turn up where they don't belong.”

“Oh, I see,” Finn said.

“And that one, the one with the red and purple top and the vile yellow wheels; that is my dear, dear uncle, the foul and loathsome Nicoretti himself.”

“Him? Coming here? Bees and Trees, you don't see a bunch of Bowsers with him, do you?”

Sabatino showed a curious eye. “Now where did you hear about them?”

“I don't know, in town somewhere, I really don't recall.”

He hadn't shared these adventures, and didn't intend to start now.

“Huuuh …” Sabatino said, in a tone that said he didn't accept this explanation at all.

The horde on foot, a hundred, maybe more, stopped just short of the line of dead grass beyond Sabatino and Finn. They stood in such a neat and even line that Finn thought there might have been a sign, a fence, a stripe painted boldly on the ground. Everyone knew where to stand, exactly how far from the house they ought to be.

No one smiled, everybody scowled. Now and then they muttered, whispered, mumbled among themselves.

“These people don't look content,” Finn said. “Are we in danger here?”

“Not yet, but you never can tell.”

As if in answer, someone began to throw fruit. A very old peach landed close to Sabatino, splattering his boots. A pear and a melon after that, but both fell rather short.

Sabatino's hand went instinctively to his belt where his weapon ought to be, if his mad grandfather hadn't taken it away.

“Be on your guard, Master Finn, there could be trouble on the way.”

“Have you noticed? I'm on the ground here, I can't stand up.”

Sabatino didn't answer. All at once, the crowd began to part. From somewhere farther back, brilliant red plumes began to bob up and down. From Finn's rather limited view it seemed a curious sight, as if a flock of very tall birds were engaging in a dance, or possibly a fight.

This illusion vanished when the first feathered figure appeared. They were men, not birds, no more or less shabby, odorous and worn, than their peers in the crowd, except for the bright scarlet crests upon their heads.

“Birds and Turds,” Finn said, taken aback by the sight, “how many churches do you have in this town?”

“Don't be a fool,” Sabatino said, without a glance at Finn. “It's not a church at all, it's the Crimson Lancers Volunteers.”

“I don't see a lance anywhere.”

“They're not allowed to carry arms. We won't put up with that.”

Someone in the mob threw a squash that was well beyond its time. Someone threw a tomato that struck Sabatino on the knee.

“All right, we'll have none a' that. Any more tossing of produce, I'll shackle everyone here!”

A stout fellow with heavy brows and a crooked nose stepped out of the crowd. Finn couldn't place him at once, then saw it was the fellow at TAVERN who'd refused to let him in.

“Sorry for the intrusion, Master Sabatino,” he said with a scornful look at Finn. “There's trouble up here it seems, and we got to step in.”

“There is no trouble here, Constable Bob,” Sabatino said with particular disdain. “If there was, it is none of your concern. The Nuccis do not require your services at all.”

“With all respect, sir, I feel that you do. Your residence appears to be causing unrest. Some type of discharge, some sorta seep, some kind of ooze is coming from your place. Something, it seems, that clouds men's minds. Folks are reporting diarrhea and unholy thoughts. One lady said a demon intruded on her parts.”

“Rubbish, folderol,” Sabatino said. “We're having trouble with the plumbing, it's nothing more than that.”

The Constable glared at Finn.

“What happened to him?”

“I believe he's injured a leg.”

“That's another thing, sir, and I might as well say it right out. We know you've had persons-eating and sleeping, staying overnight in your house …”

Constable Bob rubbed his chin, having difficulty getting the words out. “That's not our way, I don't have to tell you that. Whatever else is going on here, it's causing unrest. That said, sir, I'm going to have to take a look at that house.”

“Please do.” Sabatino looked amused. “Have a look around.”

The Constable frowned. He had a most suspicious nature and didn't trust people who smiled.

“And you,” he said to Finn, “don't be hanging 'round TAVERN anymore, I'm not about to let you in.”

“You made that clear,” Finn said.

“Good. Nothing personal. We don't cater to perverts or strangers of any kind. Bursoni! Thomas! I want a squad over to the house. Move it right now! Ricko, get those louts in line!”

The Constable stalked off. Men of the Crimson Lancers Volunteers jogged into groups of three, seven and nine. Some, Finn noted, ran into one another. Others hooted and rapidly blinked their eyes.

“The volunteers …” Finn began.

“Don't start, Finn. The Lancers come from all denominations. We're not bigots here.”

“There's that.”

“Damn those bleeding meddlers, they can't blame this fiasco on me. They'll think diarrhea, if they run into Grandfather in there!”

And, as if the house had overheard, in some uncanny manner listened in, a new tremor shivered through the ground, quivered in dread oscillation through the very air …