The Prophecy Machine

49

Sabatino gave a cry and lunged into the fray. Finn, hampered by his armor and the need to set Letitia down, was a second too late, a second too slow. Before he could act, he took a hard blow atop his head.

The kettle rang like a bell, rending him deaf and scrambling what little there was left of his wits. The Foxer, nearly as stunned as Finn, stared at this strange apparition that had nearly dented his blade.

Finn felled him with a skillet, took the fellow's sword, and tossed away his kitchenware.

“That lout missed me by a hair,” Julia squawked, “could you watch it down there?”

“If you don't like it, you can walk.”

“Fine way to treat a warrior, wounded in the field …”

Finn turned a plucky Foxer aside, sending him sprawling to the floor. Booted one soundly down the hall. Another popped up to take his place, then another, and another after that.

They came now in a horde, in a throng, in a rabble, in a swarm. As quickly as he put one down, a comrade took his place.

“Back! Back!” Sabatino shouted beside him. “We can't hold them, Finn!”

A glance told Finn the fellow was right. The narrow passage was full of Foxers struggling to get at their foes. He grabbed Letitia, pushed her behind him, fended off a Foxer again.

“Stay behind me,” Sabatino said, “we've the advantage now, the louts don't have room to fight.”

“They'll give up soon, I'll bet.”

“No time for foolery now, this is somewhat serious, Finn.”

With that, Sabatino lashed out, ripping a Foxer from gullet to chin. Finn saw he'd found a blade himself, and was making it count.

Thrust, parry, kick and collide. One down, but another at his side.

“I'm thankful we have the advantage,” he said, “or they'd have our lovely hides …”

“Finn! Watch your step!”

Finn turned half about and nearly fell. The hall ahead had crumbled, leaving a ragged maw, a gaping hole full of broken brick and stone, choked with dusty air.

And, with a horror and a chill, he saw the way led down, down steep and narrow stairs, and knew at once, even before Letitia screamed, he was in the machine's dark and deadly lair again.

“I can't,” Letitia cried, “I can't go down there!”

“We have to,” he shouted over the awful din, “stay close to me, and keep your kettle on.”

Down, then, Foxers slashing affront, the howling maelstrom below, a rumble, a throb, a dread palpitation that ripped into the very soul.

It was all Finn could do to fight off the foe and keep Letitia in hand, for the thing down there had her firmly in its grasp. She fought, thrashed, lashed out to break free, no longer in control of her will.

It was as Finn had feared-from the moment she'd stepped into that dread abode before, he knew the thing had taken some hold upon his love … now, it was determined to take her down, have her as its own.

You won't, though, damn you, not while there's a breath of life in me …

Still, she struck out blindly, kicked, clawed, hammered with her fists. She was not his Letitia but a wild and frightened creature, senses all adrift, reason gone astray, a stranger he scarcely knew.

Then, as the Foxers spilled down the darkened stairs, driving their foes ever back, back under hopeless, impossible odds, Finn, over his shoulder, saw the twisting passage give way to the horrid den itself, into the storm, into the din of the hellish scene below …

The Foxers saw it too, saw, in the midst of the fury and the deafening swell, the beast, the wretch, the one whose blood they thirsted for. At the sight they loosed a terrible cry, an awesome surge of rage, frenzy, hatred so strong it seemed a near visible thing that fouled the very air.

And in that very moment, in the echo of the Foxers' savage wail, Finn heard a cry of such sorrow, anger and regret, he could scarcely believe it came from Sabatino himself.

Holding fast to Letitia, he followed the fellow's gaze, and saw the brunt of the Foxers' ire, a mad, pitiful thing, shorn of his senses, a man with an empty, witless smile. Calabus, naked as a babe, sat amidst his gold array of nozzles, spigots, founts and tubes and spouts, clever little mouths that spat endless whorls of wisdom, secrets of tomorrow, visions of the future that only he could comprehend … sat there in a stupor, in a daze of childish wonder as the ribbons and the strips, as the ceaseless tongues of paper tried to drown him in their coils …

“Get your lady out,” Sabatino shouted, slicing another Foxer to the floor. “I'll get Father and hold them off here!”

“You can't,” Finn said, “there's too many of them, you'll never make it through.”

Sabatino showed him a curious, slightly puzzled frown.

“Damn it, craftsman, the old fart's family. What else can I do?”

Before Finn could answer, Sabatino was gone, jumping into the fracas, leaping amidst the brawl. In an instant, he was swallowed up in Foxers, lost from sight.

“Letitia, look at me,” Finn said, shaking her roughly, gripping her tight. “You've got to stop this, I cannot do everything at once. Come to your senses, dear, or I fear we're both lost.”

Letitia's answer was a foolish stare, a look that chilled him to the bone, for he'd seen the same hollow, empty gaze in Calabus' eyes.

He clutched her wrist and jerked her along, turning back to the stairs. The Foxers were busy with Sabatino, and there might be a chance, a slim one at best, that he could slip by them and get her to safety, come back and help …

The Foxer came out of nowhere, leaping out of shadow into light. Finn met his blade with a shock that numbed all feeling in his arm.

The foe came at him furiously, one wicked blow after another, driving Finn back. He knew he couldn't hold the fellow off, not with one hand, knew he couldn't let Letitia go, knew if he didn't they were both as good as dead.

Fate, then, as Fate is wont to do, solved the problem then and there as the Foxer's companion leaped in to help his friend …