There were vegetable and fruit stalls, stalls that sold fish, stalls that sold mussels, lobsters and clams. Stalls that sold fat pink shrimp, stalls that sold eels still writhing on the hook.
And, as ever, there were stalls that sold amulets, talis-mans and charms. Wands, hexes, potions and spells. There was magic that would cure, magic that would kill, magic that would turn a man to stone. And, for a very hefty price, magic that would bring back the dead.
The trouble with magic, Finn knew, was that some of it didn't work at all, and some of it worked too well. Anyone with good sense would stay away from stalls, and go to a seer with a license to spell. That, of course, didn't keep minor mages and frauds from setting up a tent and laying out their wares.
Finn talked awhile with a man who sold metals of every sort: rust-red nuggets of iron, bars of silver and bronze, snippets of copper and tin-rare and base metals Finn used in his Lizard Shoppe to fashion cogs and gears, talons and scales.
Still, the man had nothing Finn couldn't buy on Garpenny Street, or down the hill at the forge of Master Del. But since the man had been patient while Finn poked through his goods, Finn bought a spool of fine-spun silver wire at twice the price he'd pay at home.
“And why not?” he said aloud to himself. “We've already bought an overpriced chair we couldn't move an inch if we cared …”
Letitia Louise had found a fragrance she liked at the booth next door. It was oil of tangerine, and she held up her wrist to let Finn have a sniff.
“Very nice,” he said, “but you always smell good to me.”
“Musty. That's what you say sometimes.”
“Musty's good. Musty is a most appealing scent.”
“What do you think of musty tangerine?”
“I think I'll be able to handle that.”
Walking farther east through the market, the crowded stalls and tents gave way to a small public square. In the center of the square was a fountain surrounding some crude statuary, a carving Finn could not identify. Water trickled in rivulets down its mossy sides. A crowd was gathered at the fountain, and more seemed to be on the way. Many belonged to the yellow-hat bunch, so the mass was always in motion, seeming like a single being that constantly changed its shape, and never stood entirely still.
Standing well to the side of this group were other humans of the town, and several Newlies as well. Finn saw a dozen Foxers, Snorters in their customary red, and two large Bullies from the docks. Letitia seemed slightly out of sorts, and continually twitched her nose until she was certain no Yowlie crewmen were about.
“Whatever it is,” Finn said, “I hope it starts soon. We must find a place to spend the night.”
Letitia frowned. “I thought that old man made it clear there wasn't any place. I thought they didn't do that here.”
“Yes, indeed he did,” Finn answered, clearing his throat, “but we can't rely on that. We only have the word of a senile, sullen old grouch who makes chairs. I cannot imagine there is not one person in town who is somewhat civilized.”
“One would hope,” Letitia sighed, touching a spot of tangerine oil behind her ears.
“Yes, one would. It is my intention, as soon as we can find our way out of here …”
Finn didn't finish. He paused as a sudden murmur swept through the crowd. The mob seemed to shrink and then swell, swell and shrink again. And, each time this contraction took place, some of the yellow-hats broke from the mass and headed off in one direction or the next.
“Perhaps we'll see whatever it is,” Letitia said. “I do hope it's a parade.”
Finn gave her a curious look. “I thought you didn't like parades.”
“I don't, ordinarily. I do like some kinds, though.”
“What kinds would that be?”
“I'm not really sure. The only one I've seen was the Bowser Brigade. You remember, dear? They came through town on the way to the War?”
“Yes, I surely do.”
“They wore those lovely plaid and green uniforms, and the cute little hats with the tassels hanging down. I was so proud because they were Newlies, and didn't have to fight if they didn't want to.”
Letitia paused, and Finn saw the sudden touch of sadness in her eyes. “They didn't come back, as I recall. None except for two. I forgot about that.”
“No. I don't believe they did.”
Scarcely anyone does, he said to himself. He remembered so many who had gone, and simply disappeared. Pikemen and bowmen, Balloon Grenadiers. A certain captain, he recalled, gone one day looking natty in his new uniform. Back the next as a Coldie, as a shade, no longer a man, scarcely a shadow, hardly a mist, barely aware that he was there.
Finn had thought a lot about it, and decided this was what the War was for: war gave people something to do-the rich and poor alike. Thus, there was always work for the vagrant, and the fools at court who liked the dashing costumes.
Not for the first time, Finn was grateful he'd come from good craftsman stock. Dying, from what he could see, was not a promising career.
Just as these scraps of wisdom were crossing his mind, someone in the crowd began to shout. One single voice, then another, and another after that, until the sound began to echo through the churning mass and swelled to an awesome, deafening roar.
Finn felt a chill touch the back of his neck. Something, or someone, was whipping this crowd into a fever, into an unthinking horde. He could almost taste the anger, the unfettered rage, and most frightening of all, the ugly side of joy, the dark anticipation of what they'd come for, what they'd come to see.
“I don't like this,” he said, quickly grasping Letitia's hand. “We're leaving, we shouldn't be here.”
“Yes, you're right,” Letitia said, her eyes now wide with primal fear. “I'm scared, Finn. And I don't even know what it is I'm scared to see.”
Finn turned to retrace their steps, to go back the way they'd come. He saw, at once, there was no place to go, no way through that solid terrifying wall. It would be worth their lives to even try.
“Hold on to me,” he said, “don't let go. And don't be frightened, my dear.”
Letitia looked at him. “Why not? You are.”
Finn had no answer to that.
“Look, look there,” Letitia said, her nails biting into his arm. “What-what on earth is that!”
Finn followed her glance. At first, he saw nothing at all. Then, at the far end of the square, he saw that the great mass had parted to form a narrow avenue. This action brought the crowd to sudden quiet. A thousand breaths were held; for an instant, a thousand hearts ceased to beat.
Then, through this passage came a throng of yellow-hatters-a dozen, a dozen more than that, then a hundred more, backwards, forwards, walking and stalking, hopping in every mad direction, bumping into houses, running into walls, crashing headlong into their own, knocking one another to the ground. Some got up, and some lay where they fell.
The crowd shrank back, scattered, tried to let them get by. Still, there were too many townsfolk, too many Newlies wandering about. When some hapless soul got in the way, a yellow-hat would explode into anger, beat that being senseless, and kick them to the ground. No one tried to defend themselves, and no one came to their aid.
“This is insanity,” Finn said, “This country is a-a damned asylum, is what it is, and someone's stolen the key.”
“Huh? Whassat? What was you saying, sor?”
Finn looked up into a dirt-stained face, a sun-blistered nose, a tangled beard and septic eyes. All on the body of a hulk in overalls.
“You're quite mistaken, sir. I said nothing at all.”
“Ruuunka youga hoom,” the man said, or words to that effect. “You'd best not be sayin' it again.”
“Finn, please.” Letitia rolled her eyes. “We are guests in this land. You're acting just awful. You're acting like Julia now.”
“Yes, I suppose I am,” Finn said, taken aback by her words. “I certainly won't do it again.”
And, with that, undernea
th his cloak, Julia Jessica Slagg dug brassy teeth into his flesh.
“I'll get you for that,” Finn muttered, sucking in a breath.
Once more the crowd began to shout, even louder, even more frenzied than before. From the break in the crowd, a high-wheeled wagon appeared, drawn by more hat people still. As the wagon drew closer, Finn could see it held an iron-barred cage. And, within the cage, clinging to the bars, was a naked, frightened man with a mop of shaggy white hair.
“Oh, dear, get me out of here, Finn, please.”
Letitia's mouth was so dry she could scarcely spit out the words.
“I'd love to,” he told her, “but there's nowhere to go.”
He squeezed her hand, harder this time. No great help, but the best that he could do.
The villains brought the wagon to a halt near the fountain at the center of the square. Four of them hurried to the back of the cart and lifted off long wooden boards. They had clearly practiced this before: it was hardly any time before a rough-hewn structure took shape, a crude apparatus twice as tall as a man. Three other louts opened the cage and dragged the naked man out.
At once, the poor fellow shouted and flailed his limbs about. The crowd began to cheer. Clearly, they liked the show so far.
The victim wasn't young, but he was still full of fight. After much effort, his captors managed to bind him to the wooden device. The fellow strained against his bonds, threw back his head and howled.
“I-am-going-to be sick,” Letitia said, closing her eyes against the sight. “I really mean it, Finn.”
“No. No you're not. That's not a good idea.”
Holding Letitia about the waist, he turned to a doughy, middle-aged woman standing next to the man in overalls.
“Excuse me,” he said, “could you possibly tell me what they intend to do with that man?”
The woman smiled, showing Finn a row of blackened teeth. Dentistry, Finn decided, was in its infancy here.
“Why, same thing they al'ays does. Goin' to hang 'im, skin 'im and string 'im out.”
“They-what?”
Finn felt his stomach do a flip. The Master of Chairs had threatened this very same treatment, not half an hour before.
“After that,” the woman added, “they'll fire 'im up, black 'im to a crisp. How comes you doesn't know that?”
“We're new here, we don't know the local customs yet. By the way, does the word inn have any meaning to you? We're looking for a-”
“Finn …”
Letitia was swaying, much like a sapling in the wind, her mouth sagging open, her eyes rolling back. Finn held her close, caught her before she fell. For a very petite and slender being, she seemed to find a great deal of weight somewhere.
“Come on, come on,” he whispered, slapping her very lightly on the face, “you cannot do this, Letitia. I simply won't have it, do you hear?”
“Lay the victim down flat,” Julia said, poking her snout through the folds of Finn's cape. “Elevate the feet, slightly higher than the head. Loosen the clothing a bit, apply cool cloths to the wrists and the neck. Linen, now, not sacking or wool, neither cotton nor flax, not-”
“Quiet!” Finn grabbed the lizard's copper nose and pushed her roughly out of sight. “Where do you think we are, in Master Spencer's ward, up on Zod Hill? I am not a physician, Julia, I don't have a healing spell. I don't have any linen, any water, cool or hot. If I lay her down, they'll trample her on the spot. Stay out of sight and let me handle this!”
“Fine, go ahead. I'm only trying to help, doing what I can to save the poor girl's life …”
“I am-quite all right,” Letitia said with a sigh, “no thanks to you two, I must say. Will you let me go, please? I feel quite awkward bent in half like this.”
“We were merely trying to help …”
“Yes, of course you were, you're both such dears.”
Letitia busied herself, straightened a wrinkle here and there, patted Finn's hands and brushed them aside.
“Are you sure you can stand now, love, you're still a bit flushed.”
“No one ever expired from a flush,” she said, fanning herself with both hands. “I expect I'll survive if I can jus-”
Her words were lost as a ragged cheer thundered through the crowd. Letitia gasped, startled by the sound.
“Don't look,” Finn said, moving a step to block her view, “Look at something else.”
“Such as? There is little else to see here, Finn.”
“Look at the street. Those bricks are quite ordinary, but the composition, the design, clearly bear the craftsman's touch.”
“Stop it, Finn, I will not look at bricks. Tell me what they're doing to that poor man now, I can't bear to look myself.”
“Nothing at the moment,” Finn said, craning his neck, standing on his toes. “Oh, dear, now that's not good.”
“What? What?”
“They're poking him. Poking him with sticks.”
“Sticks?”
“Yes. Fairly long sticks.”
“Do they-do they appear to be sharpened or dull, these sticks?”
“It's hard to tell from here, but I'd say they're very sharp sticks.”
“Oh, no.”
“Long sticks. Sharp at one end.”
“Don't tell me that, I don't want to hear!”
“Then don't ask, my dear.”
“Even if I do, don't tell me, all right?”
“I won't, then. Ah, something else is going on now.”
“What?”
“Stop asking, Letitia. You said you didn't want to hear.”
“I don't, dear, but I do.”
“I understand, you don't and yet you do. It's natural to feel that way.”
“What a nice thing to say. You are always very kind and understanding, Finn.”
“I doubt that I am. But I always mean well, you know.”
With that, she gave him a very quick kiss on the cheek, which was not a good idea, a Newlie showing intimate affection to a human in public, as it were.
Still, Finn was pleased. Sometimes he seemed to hurt her feelings, sometimes he seemed to give her joy. And even though he loved her, he was often baffled by her ways. Males and females, as everyone knew, were different as night and day. And, for certain, Newlies and humans were not the same. Some differences were slight, but others were not.
Letitia was a Mycer, with the blood of ancient creatures in her veins. There weren't supposed to be any drawings, any pictures of the creatures Newlies had been before their magical change. There were, though, and Finn had seen them all. Some of these images disturbed him, like Snouters and the vicious Yowlie kind, but he always tried to keep an open mind.
And, though he truly loved Letitia, sometimes in his head-sometimes together in bed-he could see that small, furry creature with the twitchy nose and pink tail. It was hard to forget this lovely female, this beauty with intelligence and wit, still had the blood of creatures past in her veins. Three hundred years before, her folk had scampered through the cellars and the walls of human habitats- despised by people themselves, who broke their backs with little traps. And, for added pleasure, kept the cruel, cunning ancestors of the Yowlies about to do the killing job as well.
And even now, those who defended Newlie rights often admitted in their hearts that humans and Newlies would never be the same. Finn wished it weren't so, but wishes seldom changed the world. All he could do was try and keep Letitia from the uglier aspects of life. Which, he thought, with no little shame, he wasn't doing very well now, caught in the midst of an odorous crowd who cheered a pack of lunatics in tall yellow hats.
Letitia tried to see past him, and Finn did his best to make sure that she did not. The madmen had reached a new plateau in their torment of the old man on the rack. Much to the pleasure of the crowd, one fellow brought out a large, shiny, wicked-looking blade that clearly belonged to the butcher's trade.
Skinning, hanging, evisceration and fire …
Finn recalled, with a visibl
e shudder, those words of the Master of Chairs. And without a conscious thought, he touched the pommel of his own weapon hanging at his side.
“Butter and Bread,” he said aloud, “If that's not a fleshing blade, then I'm a great pile of whale doo!”
“My stars, Finn.”
“Sorry,” Finn said, and moved even closer to block her way.
The horror by the cart was difficult to watch, but Finn couldn't bring himself to look away. The brute with the butcher's blade drew a charcoal line across his captive's chest, from one collarbone to the next.
Here, the fellow was showing the crowd, is where I will begin …
The victim saw the blade and screamed …
One fellow gagged him …
Another tightened the knots around his legs …
One poked him with a stick, missed, wandered off left and then right, came back and poked him in the groin …
One ran into the wagon, knocked himself cold, and dropped to the ground …
Lout number one raised his blade high …
The crowd sucked in a great collective breath …
The blade descended, and touched his howling victim's chest …
Everything began to happen, everything at once …
It happened so quickly there was scarcely time to think. A single voice, a murderous cry roiled like thunder through the crowd. The great and noisy herd was struck silent, awed by the unearthly sound that seemed to come from everywhere.
Then, just behind the torture rack itself, a yellow-hat bowed his head and dropped. Another grabbed his face and fell, still another stared at the fountain of red where his arm had been half a blink before.
The awful, fearsome voice that had stilled the raging crowd now showed itself to be a man, a tall man, a man with arms and shoulders strong enough to wield the heavy, man-killer blade he clutched in both hands. He wore a suit of leather and mail, shirt, cape and baggy trousers the shade of the sea. On his head, a rakish felt hat crowned with plumes of lavender, green and gold.
Never stopping for a moment, never even slowing down, he hacked, slashed, and chopped himself a path through the killers like a mad reaper loose in a field.
The Prophecy Machine ftlm-1 Page 5
