“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 …
THE CROWD BEGAN TO MOAN IN COMMON FEAR. A young woman screamed, an old man dropped to the ground. Finn could feel the fearsome thing himself, feel the sickly emanations as a chill in his belly and a trembling in his head.
“I've got to get in there,” he said, “I can't just lie here, I've got to get her out!”
“Well, crawl right in, Master Finn,” Sabatino said with an unwholesome grin. “By all means, don't let us hold you back. Rescue the maiden, we'll cheer you on from here …”
Then, of a sudden, Sabatino's smile fell, replaced by a dark malicious glare.
“This day is yet to do its worst, I see. By damn, he's got gall coming here.”
Finn looked past Sabatino to see Nicoretti stalking through the crowd. He clutched a black bag in one hand, and two stubby Bowsers followed at his heels.
The Bowsers stopped some distance away, a great relief to Finn, as he suspected he'd seen the pair before. Mean-eyes and Pugnose, he was nearly sure.
“Ah, I see my services are sorely needed here,” Nicoretti said, dropping his bony frame to the ground. “What the devil have you done to yourself now, boy? A pleasure to see you as well, Nephew. Or possibly not,” he added, as Sabatino turned the other way.
“Bradley, Willie! Give us some cover over here. Let's get this lad out of the sun!”
“No, you don't have to do that,” Finn said, watching the Bowsers scamper off, snapping at the crowd. “I'm fine as I am.”
“Don't tell me my business, I won't stand for that. Hold still, this may hurt a bit …”
Finn loosed a frightful yell as Nicoretti yanked off his boot.
“I'll bet you don't have a lot of business, treating your patients like that.”
“Hush, lad. All you've got is a sprain. I'm going to wrap it, give you a couple of splints. Stay off that foot awhile, you'll be as good as new. Don't give me that look, it won't do you any good. That girlie's still in there, right? Forget it. You're not walking on that, not for some time. Wouldn't do you any good if you could. Whoever's in that fearsome place, they're not coming out. Now, how's that feel, too tight or what?”
Finn stared at the man, backing away from his touch.
“You don't know what you're talking about. Letitia's all right, and I'm getting her out of there.”
“You think so, do you?” Nicoretti gave a sly, secretive glance at Sabatino to see if he was far enough away.
“If you think you can,” he said, leaning close to Finn, “then you know what's in there, don't you? What foul secret the Nuccis are hiding from us all. Perhaps you'd like to share that with me. I've tried to be open with you, lad, I think you know that.”
“Open with me? Should I laugh, or would that be impolite?”
“I can help you, boy. But you have to help me.”
“And you can—what?” Finn asked, hurting all over, now, from his fall. Hurting everywhere, not solely in the foot.
“Can you get Letitia out? Can you help me do that? Oh, but you say she's dead, so that's out. I guess I don't need you at all, Doctor. Thanks for the lovely splint.”
Nicoretti's face went dark. “Damn you, boy, I said you'd play the fool, and you haven't proved me wrong. I can tell you things. Things you don't know.”
“Like what?” “Like the crazed old man in there. I'll tell you who he is. He's Calabus' father.” Nicoretti grinned. “What do you think of that?”
“I know who he is. What else have you got?”
Nicoretti looked grim. He glanced at Sabatino, who was farther off now, watching Constable Bob attempt to line his troops in a row.
“All right, pay attention, boy,” Nicoretti said with a sigh. “You know I'm Sabatino's uncle. The reason I am is because my sister, Ingretta, married Calabus. She was Sabatino's mother, rest her soul.”
“I guessed she wasn't alive, whoever she turned out to be.”
Nicoretti hesitated. “No, she is not. My sister and I came to Makasar when we were young, after our parents died. We were raised by a very distant aunt. Ingretta and I were both Calabus' friends at the time, possibly the only friends he had, for the old man would seldom let him out of his sight.
“His father had come to this country years before after he'd amassed a great wealth somewhere. Often, when he was away on some venture, Calabus would let us in the house. It was, even then, a frightening place to be.
“Later, when Calabus and Ingretta announced they would wed, his father went into a rage and forbade him to see her again. The two were much in love, though, and they ran off together anyway.
“All of us paid the price for that. When the couple returned, the old man took them in. But not from the goodness of his heart. He told my sister she could never leave the house, that she would never see me, her brother, again.”
Nicoretti hesitated. “That was his punishment for disobedience. He was, even then, a crazed and bitter old man. No matter how either of us pleaded, Ingretta and I never saw each other after that. Even when she died giving birth to Sabatino, I was not allowed to bid her soul farewell. I was a Hatter, you see, and not of my sister's new ‘faith,’ though the old man never entered his own church in his life.
“Calabus, I regret to say, was ever weak at heart. His father's hatred, his terrible will, set Calabus against me in the end. And thus it remains today.”
Finn shook his head. “It's a sorrowful tale. That one man could cause such misery in his life. I fully understand why you've loathed the Nuccis so long. You have greatly suffered at their hands.”
“Anyone who knows them suffers at their hands. You're aware of that as well.”
Indeed, Finn thought, and I'll suffer yet until Letitia's out of there. He looked past Nicoretti at the crowd. They were silent now, for no new tremors had come from the house. As any crowd will do, if there's little of a tragic nature to behold, they soon become restless
and bored.
There was no sign of the Crimson Lancers Volunteers, and Finn wondered if they'd marched in disorder on the house. If they had …
Bracing himself on two hands and a leg, he tried to pull himself up. He made it for a moment, cold sweat beading on his brow, then sharp pain drove him down again.
“I told you,” Nicoretti said. “No one listens to their doctor, they know it all, they do.”
“You could help me up, Doctor, I'd listen to that.”
“Help you cause greater damage to your leg? Not on your life, son. I won't betray my craft.”
Finn glared at the man, drew a breath for another try.
“One thing I want to know. You and the Foxers. You're together on this. I knew it from the time you—saved me from them, but I don't know why. I'm not buying that they just happen to hate the Nuccis too.”
“Ridiculous. I wouldn't get near one of the brutes.”
“Because they're Newlies?”
“Because I don't like 'em, is all.”
“You don't mind Bowsers.”
“I'll hire a Bullie to pull a cart, but I'm not taking him to lunch.”
“I'm not as far from home as I thought.”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“Just what it—”
A sudden great vibration shook the ground again, stronger, more awesome than before. Nicoretti fell. The crowd began to shriek, and half of them toppled to the ground.
“Help me, damn you,” Finn said. “Get me on my feet!”
“I'm down here myself, boy, didn't you notice that?”
“Sabatino, give me a hand—”
Finn glanced behind him, but the man wasn't there. The tin hats they'd worn were gone—Sabatino had taken Finn's too.
“He knows you're crippled up good,” Nicoretti grinned. “He's gone in to get that Newlie for himself.”
“No. He's gone for his father. And not to get him out, I'll wager.”
Finn struggled to stand, fell twice, then again. The fourth time worked, but the world kept whirling around.
“You won't make it,” Nicoretti said.
“Wait out here and see.”
“I was truthful to you, lad. You didn't give me my due.”
Finn looked at him. “That's what you're asking? I can't tell you what's in there. I couldn't if I tried.”
“Damn lie,” Nicoretti said, “you could if you weren't a cheat.”
“It's not a lie, Doctor, it's just the awful truth is what it is.”
He turned and hobbled feebly toward the house, dragging one leg, cursing Sabatino with every breath. On the way he passed the Bowsers, Pugnose and Mean-eyes, dragging a colorful awning in their wake. They growled at Finn, and Finn growled back …
FINN'S RETURN TO THE HOUSE, TO THE HOWL AND the clamor and the din, to the shriek and the thunder in his head, was the longest journey of his life. Nicoretti's splint, a clever and torturous device, pricked, punctured, pinched his tender flesh, and ground one bone against the next with every agonizing step.
Still, Good ever springs from Bad, lessons Finn learned as a child in the Crafters Church of Meticulous Care. A man who's lost his right hand can give his extra glove to a man who's lost his left. He who's lost his sight can use his books to build a bed. Even Death itself has lasting benefits—Joy, Peace, Love. Or, if nothing else, a very nice nap …
Finn, then, found the excruciating pain in his foot overwhelmed the awesome emanations from the house. Even in the kitchen, where the force from this grim, indomitable machine nearly brought him to his knees, he could tolerate the thing if he kept one foot on the ground.
With desperation as a well-meaning friend, it took Finn little time at all to learn how he might survive in his search for Letitia Louise.
The kitchen was a graveyard of patched, broken, sooty pans and pots. Big pots, little pots, pots of every sort. Kettles made of iron, rusty and red, skillets heavier than lead.
Working with his roll of silver wire, he hurriedly fashioned a garment for the battle to come. The first thing he chose was a thick black kettle for his head. It smelled of Squeen's cooking, but it brought the fierce radiation to a level he could stand.
When he was done, Finn was a kitchen unto himself. Hardly a knight in helm, armor and mail, but one makes do, as they say.
Before he left, he grabbed a collection of knives, some that were reasonably sharp, some that would scarcely cut butter in the sun. A pocketful of candles and a lamp full of fat.
“I'm coming, Letitia,” he said to himself. “Don't be frightened when you see me, love, for I look like a peddler hung with his wares …”
The dining room was in horrid disarray. Table, chairs, dishes and food were crushed into the floor. Finn felt a chill at the sight. The dark extrusion had clearly had its way with the tableware, then rolled into the hall grinding everything to pulp.
The stairs were still intact, no worse than before. He hesitated, drew a deep breath, then ran up as quickly as he could, knowing what a tremor would do if it should catch him there.
Not much more, I suppose, if it catches me anywhere …
The climb took a toll on his foot, but there was little he could do about that. The room where he and Letitia had slept had disappeared. The hallway was full of debris: walls, floors, bits of ratty carpet, everything tattered and shredded.
Through a gap in the wall he saw a familiar path, a way he and Sabatino had come through before.
“What are you up to now?” he said aloud, as if the younger Nucci could hear. “You'd better be minding your affairs and not mine.”
Finn gave little credit to Nicoretti's nasty hint. Sabatino was not after Letitia, Finn was sure of that. Still, it wasn't the kind of drivel he liked to hear—
A shadow crossed the darkness just ahead. Finn stood perfectly still. Nothing. Whatever it was, it didn't move again. He took another cautious step … Then, with no warning at all, the floor ahead buckled, splintered, and vanished in the darkness far below.
Finn wrapped his arms about a post and held on. The wall shrieked as its timbers twisted out of shape, gave way, and tumbled in the pit that had taken the floor in its maw.
No way forward, then. No way back. Only a small crawlway, a tunnel the machine had yet to touch.
No matter where it leads, there's no place else to go …
Dropping very slowly to his knees, he nearly passed out from the pain. His foot didn't much care for the motion, and instantly let him know.
Once down, he was sure he would never move again. The foot was bad enough, without the encumbrance of skillets, pots, kettles and pans.
He made his way slowly, ever aware of the thrumming hum of the frightful machine.
The tunnel opened abruptly into a larger room. Finn inched forward, pushing his lamp ahead. Everything was familiar in a sense. Surely he'd come this way before, or imagined that he did. The wedge of slated roof that nosed out of the floor, the window on the ceiling where a window shouldn't be. Shreds of wallpaper hanging limply from the wall, a shattered bit of doorway that—
“You must be the infamous Master Finn. The one who runs off without a thought for his friends …”
“Julia?”
Finn nearly stood, a poor move at best. “Fleas and Bees, where are you, I can't see a thing!”
“That's because there's not a lot to see. Over to your right. You'll have to come here, I can't come to you.”
“You don't sound right. What's the matter with your voice?”
“Quite a bit. It's hard to know where to begin.”
“I'm not in perfect shape myself. And I did not run off,you know perfectly well. That old man was—Great Frogs and Logs, Julia, what happened to you!”
Finn stared, shaken beyond belief. Shocked, stunned, surprised that the lizard could still be alive.
“Indeed,” Julia said, a shaky rasp to her voice, “I seem to have lost my head. Or, other parts have lost me. Depends on your point of view, I suppose. Finn, you're wear
ing a lot of pots and pans, but I guess you know that.”
Finn didn't answer. He gazed at Julia, bent nearly to the floor, holding the lamp close to the spot where her head had detached itself from the rest. As a master of his craft, he was fascinated, totally enthralled. As Julia's companion and friend, he was also greatly relieved.
“It's clear I'm even better than I thought,” he said aloud. “Every wire, every spindle, every node detached on impact as it should. Nothing even tore. I made it that way for maintenance, of course. But I never imagined you'd come through something like this. In essence, you could survive quite nicely as a head.”
“Many thanks for the lecture, Dr. Science, now please creep about and find my nether parts. I shouldn't care to be a head alone. Finn, you've got sticks tied to your foot. Part of your costume, I assume.”
“We don't have time for talk. We've got to find Letitia, and get her out of here.”
“We've got to find me,” Julia corrected. “Then we'll look for Letitia Louise …”
EVEN WITH A GREAT SHIELD OF SKILLETS, PANS and cooking ware, Finn could feel the power, the draw, the inexorable force of the horrid machine that pulled him ever closer, closer still. Though he refused to give it life, denied it conscious will, he could not but feel the thing had some blind purpose, some dark, unknowing intent.
“It may be, if it sees us,” Finn muttered beneath his breath, “it will think us a dread apparition, more frightful than itself …”
“I hope it sees us,” Julia said, “and no one else, no one who knows us well. I couldn't stand the humiliation, Finn, looking like this.”
“I doubt we'll meet any neighbors from the Street. I shouldn't think the grocer or the cobbler would ply their wares here.”
“It was only a figure of speech, Finn. I've lost my body, but my wit is still intact.”
“As much as ever, I assume.”
“What, what's that?”
Finn didn't answer. A low arch loomed up ahead, and he had to duck low, an act that played havoc with his knee.
Anyone who saw the pair would likely be appalled, for they were truly a spectacle to see. A limping monster clad in cooking ware. An ogre with a kettle for a top, and, mounted on that, firmly tied in place, a red-eyed lizard head.
The Prophecy Machine (Investments) Page 25
