The Prophecy Machine
( Finn, the Lizard Master - 1 )
Neal Barrett Jr.
Neal Barrett Jr
The Prophecy Machine
1
Master Finn filled his lungs with the clean salt air, with the heady ocean breeze. The Madeline Rose raced atop a gentle swell, then plunged once more into the briny deep.
“Great Socks and Shoes,” Finn said aloud, dizzy with the sweet intoxication of the sea, “Why, a man could bottle this wondrous stuff and sell it in every foul alley, every dank and smoky town. There's a fortune to be had in pure, uncontaminated air!”
“What's that now, lad? Were you speakin' to me, Master Finn?”
Finn looked up to find Captain Magreet in his path, boots spread wide, poised upon the deck with perfect ease. The ship might roll, the ship might sway, might turn upon its back for a while. Nothing, Finn was sure, would trouble good Captain Magreet.
“Just muttering, sir,” Finn said, “taking in the air. And a lovely fine day it is, too.”
“Might be, might not,” the captain said. “Might be heading for a squall.”
Finn raised a brow at that. “A-squall, sir? We're headed for a squall?”
“Of course not, a day like this? Not a chance of that at all.”
“That's good to hear.”
“Never been to sea before. I'll bet I'm safe in sayin' that.”
“No, sir. My very first time.”
“Aye, then you've never heard the wind shrieking in the shrouds, never seen a fifty-foot wave comin' at you in the night.”
“My heavens, no.”
“Neither have I. Hope to hell I never do.”
The captain, lost in some frightful image of his own, gripped the rail and stared out to sea.
Finn, clad in ordinary clothing-putty-colored trousers, gray flaxen shirt, broad belt and ankle boots-felt much like a common sparrow next to the dapper Magreet. The captain was a colorful sight indeed, dressed in the customary garb of an officer at sea-ruffled crimson shirt, harlequin knickers and a fancy plumed hat.
Finn, without meaning to criticize, felt that this radiant attire was somewhat out of sorts on a short stub of a man like Magreet, a globular fellow with stumpy legs and scarcely any neck at all. Tanned, parched, seared by the weather and the years, his skin was dark and furrowed as a nut. His nose was a great inflammation, a monstrous knob that looked as if tiny red spiders had spun their webs there. Finn guessed, with little hesitation, that the captain was wed to Madame Rum, the curse of many a man who went to sea.
“And how fares your, uh-whatever it be, Master Finn,” said Magreet, studying the deck for a moment, then facing Finn again. “I hope you don't take offense, sir. I don't mean to pry.”
“Certainly not, none taken,” Finn said. He was, in fact, greatly surprised Magreet had kept his silence this long, as they'd been asail for half a week.
“What I thought is,” the captain said, rubbing a sleeve across his nose, “I thought, with the salt air and all, the ah-object on your shoulder there, that's the thing I mean, might be prone to oxidation, to rust as it's commonly called.”
“Indeed.”
“I've been some curious, as others have as well, just what it might be. Now don't feel we're trying to intrude …”
“Of course not, sir.” Finn smiled, taking some pleasure in finding the captain ill at ease. “What you speak of is a lizard. I design and craft lizards of every sort. Lizards for work, lizards for play. Lizards for the rich and poor alike. I make them of metal, base and precious too, sometimes with finery, sometimes with gems. The one you see here is made of copper, tin, iron, and bits of brass.”
The captain closed one squinty eye, looked at Finn's shoulder, then looked away again.
“And these-lizards, what exactly do they do, Master Finn?”
“Oh, a great number of things,” Finn said. “When we have some time I'd be pleased to explain. It might be I can make one for you.”
“Yes, well …”
“This one, now, this one is somewhat unique. This one is strictly ornamental. It really does nothing at all.”
“Ornamental, you say.” Judging by the captain's expression, he had little use for ornamental things of any sort. “Well then, I wish you a good day, sir. Enjoy your voyage aboard the Madeline Rose.”
“I surely will,” Finn said.
The captain turned, then stopped, as if a thought had flicked like a moth about his head.
“Your servant,” he said, “I hope she's some better today.”
“Sadly no, sir. I fear she finds little comfort in the sea.”
“I'm sorry this is so. Please tell her again, I view that ah-incident with regret. Assure her she is perfectly safe aboard my ship. No harm of any sort will come to her here.”
“I've had no success in quieting her fears thus far, Captain. I am most uncertain that I will.”
“Nonsense,” said the captain, waving Finn's words away. “I'm sure she'll come around. And when she gets on her feet, you are welcome to bring her to table. You will find us more casual than dry-leggers, lad. Close quarters, you know.”
“I've no complaints, sir.”
“Quite-pleasant in appearance, as I recall,” Magreet added. “Most attractive for her kind.”
The captain seemed to pause, a vessel poised to brave the sea. Finn, however, showed no sign of answering at all.
“So. Indeed, sir …” the captain said finally. “A pleasure to see you, Master Finn.”
He turned, then and walked aft, ducked in a passageway and disappeared below.
Finn felt the heat rise to his face. He had not missed the spark, the sooty little thought, the foul, damp anticipation that danced for an instant in the captain's tiny eyes.
He took a deep breath and shook the seeds of anger away. Anger, even displeasure, were not emotions he dared display. Not here, or anywhere, not in a world where bigotry still held sway. One might wink, as the captain implied, at what went on between a man and a maid of lesser kind. Still, he did not speak about it to a stranger, or scarcely even to a friend …
“Ornament, am I? Doesn't do anything at all?” said a voice like a croak, like a rattle, like a saw cutting tin. “A fine thing that is, Finn.”
“Shut up,” Finn said. “There are ears everywhere. You can't talk, Julia. Try and remember that.”
“Oh, I'll remember, all right. Next time you need Julia Jessica Slagg to save your neck from some terrible assault, to drag your bony flanks out of the fire, to-”
With nary a glance, Finn tapped a copper scale at the tip of a brassy tail. Julia gave a hiss and a sckruk! and went silent at once.
“There are times,” Finn sighed to himself, “when a man takes pride in his work, when he knows he is master of his craft. Then there are times when he wonders why he didn't choose an ordinary trade, like magic or the law, some dreary task that takes scarcely any skill at all …”
2
The Madeline Rose raced across a tranquil sea with a song in her rigging, the wester-wind full behind her sails. The morning sky was bright, the sea as green as a wicked maiden's eyes.
The particular maid that came to mind brought a smile to the face of Master Finn, a smile so full of pleasure past of a lady he'd not forget, that Finn turned at once from the rail to be sure no other was about.
With great relief, he thanked whatever gods held sway upon the sea that Letitia Louise was down below and out of sight. Granted, she was sick, weary, greatly out of sorts, and most likely cursing the day she gave her love to Master Lizard-Maker Finn. Still, all in all, bless her, she was there, not here….
If fair Letitia had seen that smile, he knew he would be in deeper tro
uble than he was. Letitia had an uncanny talent for guessing what-or who-might be in his head. It was no sort of magic, nor any kind of spell-every Newlie born, every number of the Nine, carried both the burdens and the gifts of the animals they'd been.
For Letitia's folk, it was caution, quickness, a shifting of the eyes, habits born of a bone-cold fear of the creatures who'd preyed upon her kind, stalked them, tracked them, hunted them down, ages before they'd both taken on a higher form. That fear was with Letitia's people still, for in many ways, their ancient foes had scarcely changed from what they'd been.
Now, standing on the foredeck of the Madeline Rose watching the beauty of the foam-flecked sea, Finn was shaken once again by utter disbelief, by the cruelty of the joke that Fate had seen to cast their way.
“How, in all creation,” he said aloud, “could things go so awry? How could I have possibly gotten poor Letitia into this?”
It was difficult to stay on deck at all; only Letitia's tears and the heat down below had driven him up into the day. Once there, he found it near impossible to peer into the vessel's very peak, through the maze and the tangle of the headsails and halyards, the beckets and the blocks, the mainsails, foresails and who knows what. Still, as if this action might purge him, as if he might atone, he made himself lift his eyes again.
And there, in the dizzy heights above, leaping from the shrouds, scrambling up the masts, was the very source of Letitia's nightmares-screeching, howling, loathsome creatures with pointy tufted ears, flat pink noses and pumpkin-seed eyes: striped, spotted, ginger, black and white. They all wore mulberry, plum, or lilac pantaloons, and little else at all.
Here then, the crew of the Madeline Rose, likely a hundred of the dreaded Yowlie folk, maybe more than that. And somehow, with no great effort, Finn had managed to pay a small fortune to set Letitia down in their midst.
He could tell himself there was nothing else for it, that it wasn't his fault. They had boarded in the night, gone to their cabin and awakened with the land far out of sight. How was he to know these agile, evil-eyed devils were prized the world over for their prowess in those shaky heights above the sea?
“What did I know?” he said aloud. “I was born and raised a landsman, and I ply a landsman's trade. What am I supposed to know about anything that floats?”
He had learned a great deal that very first morning when Letitia's screams brought him quickly out of sleep. There, in a porthole, caught in the early dawn light, was a flat-nosed creature with grinning opal eyes. Her screams had brought another, then another after that, until there were half a dozen horrid faces pressed against the glass. Only the appearance of the captain himself had finally chased the brutes away. All this was but a single day gone, but it seemed an eternity to Finn …
“I always say,” said a voice as soothing as hail on a roof of rusty tin, “I always say there's trouble enough come tomorrow without all this moaning about the past. One takes what comes, one shakes away sorrow and trods on ahead. One-”
“By damn,” Finn said, “I turned you off, now you're blathering again.”
“Don't build a bleeding wonder if you don't expect her to act like one,” Julia said. “I'm more than you imagined, less than what I'll be.”
“That makes no sense at all. Are you aware of that? You're a braggart's what you are, a pompous, puffed-up bag of tin. I can't imagine how you turned out like you did. I must have put something in backwards somewhere.”
“There's no use blaming yourself for this grievous turn of events. It is your fault, of course, but there's little you can do about that. Wisdom comes easily to the man who's waiting for the axeman's blade to fall. For the first time in his life, he knows exactly where he's going next.”
“Am I mistaken? I don't think I asked your opinion. I don't think I asked you anything at all.”
“As a matter of fact, I don't suppose you did. Still-”
“Julia, another sound, any sound at all, and I swear you go into the sea. Where, as the good captain put it, you'll learn what rust is all about.”
“Finn-”
“I warned you, I vow I won't again.” “Quiet,” Julia hissed softly in his ear, “now it's you that's rambling, Finn!”
Julia saw them first over Finn's shoulder, coming from the maindeck to the bow. An instant later Finn heard them too, turning hastily as Julia became ornamental once again.
Finn had glimpsed the pair before, a pinch-nosed lawyer and his unlovely spouse, each the very image of the other- gaunt, spare, stiff as winter reeds, each wrapped tight in heavy robes, as if the fair sun might burn their pale visages away.
“A good morning to you,” Finn said, though neither deigned to look his way. Instead, they paused well away from the rail and muttered darkly to each other, careful not to look at the blue and churning sea.
“That woman's face would curdle lead,” Julia croaked in Finn's ear, “and he's no great prize himself …”
“Quiet,” Finn said, “I don't believe I asked.”
The man looked back just then as if he might have heard the two. His frown, though, was not for the lizard or Finn.
“You. Stop dawdling around back there,” he shouted, “Get your useless carcass up here, Gyrd!”
With a whimper and a whine, the Newlie lad appeared, stumbling along the larboard deck balancing a silver tray of goblets, oat-bread, goat-bread, two-pepper cheese, and a dark red beaker of ale.
This, in the right hand, flailing for a hold with the left. The lawyer scowled, the woman shook her bony chin. The Newlie slipped, caught himself again. Far overhead, a gaggle of crewmen screeched and laughed aloud.
Startled, beset on every side, Gyrd's pointy nose twitched, his ears perked up and his red eyes sparked with sudden fear.
“By damn, watch what you're doing,” the counselor warned, “I'll thrash you good and proper if you drop that, boy!”
Like all of his kind, Gyrd was a lean and graceful creature on the land, yet plainly uncertain out to sea. Just as those harsh words rent the air, the ship plunged her oaken bow into the deep, leaped up again, burying the foc'sle in a veil of foamy white.
Finn grabbed a rail and held his breath. Ahead and to his left, the Newlie took one good step and then the next, fought the wall of water, coughed, spat out the sea, and never gave way.
“Good lad,” Finn shouted aloud, “You've done it, boy!”
Gyrd turned to face him, started to grin-
— and that was the moment a burly, pock-faced, mean-eyed man with a shock of red hair lurched out of nowhere, bursting up from a passageway with no sort of warning at all.
Gyrd cried out as the man struck him soundly, lifting him off his feet, sending him sprawling, nearly sweeping him into the sea. His legs hit the railing, bringing him to his knees. Tray, tidbits, goblets and bottle went whirling into the deep.
The lad shook himself, tried to stand, then fell back again.
“Onions and Leeks!” Finn swore, “Stay down, don't move, you've likely broken something, boy!”
Finn raced quickly across the deck. The boy gave a plaintive little bark, stared at Finn and thrashed about. The bow dipped again, hurling tons of water from the sea. Finn choked, wiped his eyes, opened them again. The big brute stood there blocking his way.
“Watch yourself, sir,” Finn began, “You've no right to just-whuuf!”
The man didn't bother to look. His palm struck Finn in the chest, knocking him roughly aside.
Finn swore, caught himself, and turned in time to see the fellow clutch the boy's jacket in his fist and jerk him off his feet. He shook the poor lad like a rag, then slapped him hard across the face.
The boy howled in pain. His head snapped back, his feet kicking feebly in the air.
“Stinking beast!” The man held the lad close to his face. “I'll teach you to lay hands on your betters. By damn, the day's coming for your kind!”
He took a step toward the railing, raised the Newlie high, held him there screaming, thrashing above his head.
Finn knew, saw how it would happen, saw it as clearly as if it were happening then. He moved in a blur, not even looking at the man, his eyes locked only on the boy. He leaped, grabbed the Newlie's skinny legs and hung on. The man stumbled back and hit the deck hard. He yelled at Finn, but Finn couldn't stop. He walked right over the brute, flailing for balance, much like moving on slippery stones across a creek-stepping on the groin, then the belly, then the head.
Folding the lad between his shoulder and his chest, he ran across the foc'sle past the big foremast to the maindeck below.
“Stay here,” he said, setting the lad down, “Right here. Don't move. No, that's wrong. Don't stay here-go. Go anywhere. Hide.”
“S-sir-”
Finn didn't have to look. He heard the heavy boots, heard the deep and throaty roar. He turned, then saw the man coming, decided he couldn't be that big, nobody could …
3
He glanced about the deck, searching for a weapon, anything at all. Thought, for a second, that he might use Julia, swing her like a club, knew she wouldn't care for that. Besides, he noted, Julia wasn't there. Somewhere in the melee, Julia had disappeared. Fallen, jumped, leapt down a hole. Whatever, she was nowhere in sight. There was no one there but Finn himself, Finn and the Newlie, a wailing, barking, quivering lad behind him, and the ugly, flame-headed lout with murder in his eyes.
“Look, there is simply no reason to behave like this,” Finn said, backing off a step, then backing off again. “I'm sure you were-distraught; simply out of sorts back there. I'm certain you meant no harm to the lad. If you'd just apologize now, I'm sure we can-Pickles and Pots, man, don't do that!”
The short silver blade flicked out of the man's long sleeves, sang a nasty song as it whipped in a swift and killing arc, clipping a brass button from Finn's favorite shirt and sending it rattling 'cross the deck.
Finn sucked in a breath. Before he could get his wits together, the fellow was at him again, leaping, slashing, cutting wicked circles in the air.
The Prophecy Machine ftlm-1 Page 1
