The Prophecy Machine (Investments) (2 page)

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 …

H
E 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.

There was nothing to do but back up, feint to the right, shift to the left. Back off, do it all again.

And how long could
that
go on? One man with a weapon, frothing at the mouth, another man without.

“This is a stupid pastime,” he shouted, shuffling to the right as the madman sliced to the left. “This is simply ridiculous, totally inane. This is—
Huuuuk!
”

Finn's heart nearly stopped as the weapon took another button off his shirt. He backed up, nearly to the bowsprit that arched out over the sea. Once more, the
Madeline Rose
plunged into the foam, nearly drowning Finn, then rose up swiftly again. Clearly Finn's assailant didn't care for water. He growled in anger, tried to slap the stuff away.

Finn took a moment to catch his breath.

Maybe this lout will break for lunch
, he muttered to himself,
and while he's filling his belly, I'll run down and get my blade, see how the bugger likes that …

“
Rawwwk!
” the bully yelled, or words to that effect.

Spilling pools of water, water splashing out his boots, out his pockets, out his nose, he sprang at Finn, forcing him back against the rail. Finn tried to leap aside, but the man was quick for his size. Twice, the blade slashed across his chest, venting his shirt and nearly kissing his skin.

Finn stepped away, hard against the rail with nowhere to go except the churning sea below. He felt the rough touch of the tangled lines at his back. His foe slashed out again. Finn sucked in his belly, grabbed the rail with both hands, and kicked the brute soundly in the head.

The man howled and staggered back. Finn grabbed a line and pulled himself up into the shrouds. Red Hair was on him in a second, climbing up behind, the knife clutched in his teeth.

“Come on, you overgrown lout,” Finn shouted, “get at it or take a nap!”

Bushes and Trees, he said to himself, now why did I have to say that?

He risked a look down, and almost lost his hold. The deck already seemed a mile or so below. The ship yawed to port, jerked him backwards, then shoved him to starboard again, the bully still right on his heels.

Worse yet, the crewmen were all around him now, yowling and howling, hissing and leaping about, sometimes swinging so close he could smell their vile and fishy breath.

“No more of this nonsense,” Finn said aloud, “I'm damned if I haven't had enough!”

He didn't take time to weigh his odds. He jumped, caught a line and pulled himself aft, hand over hand, to the thick mainmast. There, several lines ran straight down to the deck. The big man cursed him, but he didn't look back. He closed his eyes until his boots touched wood again. The trip nearly burned his hand raw, but he was down, and—

—so was the double-ugly lout. Finn could scarcely believe his eyes. The monster had taken the longer way down, climbing back the way he'd come. Still, he hit the deck running and raced after Finn.

“Tomatoes and Toads,” Finn groaned. He took one look at the fellow, then turned and sprinted aft. Almost at once, a figure blurred to his right, a figure with a great plumed hat atop his head.

Finn stopped and turned back. His foe was sinking to his knees. His mouth dropped open and his hands hung loose along his sides. Captain Magreet, in glorious regalia, stood over the man with a wooden belaying pin gripped in his hand.

“A nasty customer,” Magreet said, looking up at Finn. “I hate like the devil to sap a payin' passenger, but this isn't the first time, I'll tell you that.”