The Prophecy Machine (Investments) (20 page)

“What happened, might I ask?” Finn addressed an old man who was fishing off the quay. “I recall this ship wasn't sunk yesterday.”

“Wasn't,” the man said without looking up.

“I assume, then, it suffered an accident.”

“You'd be wrong if you did. Hooters got it. Held their midnight service right here. Burned the thing down to the keel.”

“Oh,” Finn said, and didn't say a thing after that.

The man looked up, studying Finn with a fierce and curious eye. “I've seen you somewhere. What's your spiritual affiliation, friend?”

“Got to run, hope you land a big one,” Finn said, and quickly hurried away.

“Why should I care if you stroll in town or not? You'll be back, you've no place to go.”

Sabatino's words and his pompous, arrogant stance had annoyed Finn no end, but he'd held his temper at bay.

“I'm not asking your leave. I'm simply telling you I'm going. To get fresh clothing for Letitia, though it's none of your concern what I do. Clothing, and—no offense, unless you care to take it so—some sort of decent food. Your meals are atrocious here. I don't know how you stand it. You've been abroad, I know. I can't believe you never dined on a dish that wasn't gray. Something that looked as if it might run away.”

“Ah, you're fooling no one, craftsman, certainly not me.” Sabatino gave him a bawdy wink. “You're going because you think you'll find some clever way out of our lovely town. You won't, you know. But you're welcome to give it a feeble try.”

“Go anywhere near her—just glance in her direction while I'm gone—and you'll answer to me.”

“You strike terror in my heart.”

“I mean it, Sabatino.”

“Of course you do. Have a marvelous time.”

Finn was near certain everyone in town knew who he was. Any other place, and he'd dismiss the thought at once. Here, it was no aberration of the mind. Men, women, babes
in arms—no one turned his way. Still, when each was well past, he could feel their eyes poking at his back.

The chair he'd left in the street was gone. Most likely, the Master of Chairs had hauled it back inside. Who'd want to steal the thing? He thought about going in to check, but only for a second and a half.

The sign above the tavern read
TAVERN
. A sound and frugal name, Finn decided, no one putting on airs. One mug of ale before he went about his tasks. One cool mug couldn't take a lot of time.

He climbed three wooden steps and entered the dimly lit room. A bar made of planks was on the left, tables on the right. Feeble oil lamps and the smell of sour ale. At once, Finn felt somewhat at ease. If everything else in this land was awry, at least taverns smelled the same.

A man the size of a storm was suddenly in his way. He had no neck and no brow, and his body was so immense that his arms likely never touched his sides.

“Your pardon,” Finn said, “I'd like to get by.”

“What do you want,” the man said, in a voice surprisingly shrill, “What you doin' here?”

“What I'd like to do is drink an ale. Would that be all right with you?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No. It's not all right with me.”

“Would you care to tell me why?”

“It's not all right because it's not. Why you askin' me something like that?”

“I don't know, it just seemed the thing to do.”

“Those people.” He glanced past a massive shoulder. “Those people drink in here.”

“Yes, I see they do.”

“They drink here. Not somebody else.”

“This is a club, then. It's not a public bar?”

“Who told you that?” It was clear all this was hurting the fellow's head. “You see the sign, you see what it says outside?”

“I surely did.”

“What does it say?”

“TAVERN, I believe.”

“Tavern. That's what it is.”

“Fine. I'd like an ale, please. A dark if you have it, if not I'll take a red.”

The man was growing puffy about the eyes. Behind him, Finn could see faces, pale little moons floating in the dark.

“They drink here. Other people don't. These are the folks that drink here.”

“And where,” Finn wanted to know, “do the people who don't drink here go?”

“Somewhere else.”

“And the people, the ones that drink somewhere else. They don't
ever
drink here. The ones that drink here, I'll bet they never drink anywhere else.”

“I think I know you. You're the one doesn't come from here.”

“I'm taking up your time, and I'm not really thirsty anymore. Let me ask you this. You know where I can find some Mycer folk in town? I'm trying to find a Rubinella; that's who I'm looking for.”

The man's eyes grew wide. As wide as his butter cheeks would allow, as wide as little birdy eyes can go.

“You turn around and get out of here, you got a second and a half. I know who you are, all right. You been—you been staying over—eatin' and sleepin' overnight. Why you want to come to our town? Why'nt you stay where you belong?”

The big man could scarcely get the words out. He made no effort to hide his disgust. He looked at Finn as if he'd
swallowed a bug. Now, some of the moon faces were looking his way.

“I'm not entirely familiar with your ways,” Finn said. “If I've said something to offend—”

The man stabbed a finger at his chest. “You say somethin' dirty to me, I'll knock you flat.”

“Thank you for your time,” Finn said, “you've got a nice place here …”

A N
SWERS, IT SEEMED, DID NOT COME EASY IN THIS
queer, uncommon land—not as autumn leaves that fall in plenty from the tree, but tardy and slow like the lazy sap of spring. And, worse still, answers and questions looked strangely alike, the same as two dust balls, the same as two peas:

Still, Finn felt he had gained real insight into the ways of this land. Everyone lived according to his creed, and everyone was totally mad.

Leaving the tavern called
TAVERN
, Finn passed a similar place called
BAR
. Reason said there was no use stopping there, so he made his way toward the broad market square.

The clouds had blown away and the sun had appeared to warm the dreary day. The square was crowded with booths, stands, and stalls of every sort. Stalls made of blankets on a pole. Stalls that sold melons, magic and simple card tricks. Big shops, little shops, shops no more than a stool or a bench. Each one squeezed, packed against the next. Finn could scarcely tell where one left off and another one began.

Working his way through the drab and odorous crowd, he found it hard to forget he was at the very site where Fate had slapped him silly and shown him what for. That too familiar tingle at the back of his neck was present there again.

After a bit of searching, he found the stall where he'd bought some tin scraps and a roll of silver wire. With a sigh of relief, he saw the same merchant was there.

“Good day,” Finn said, offering a smile to a fellow he'd met before, “it's quite nice to see you again.”

“I don't do returns,” the man said, wary, as ever, of a pleasant attitude. “You bought it, it's yours, don't come whining back here.”

“I'm very satisfied with my wares,” Finn said. “I have a question, is all.”

“I can sell you brass, bronze, nickel, or lead, copper, iron or tin. I can get you gold, I can get you gilt. The gilt's so good you could fool eight people out of ten.”

“My question's not about that.”

“Then you're in the wrong stall, friend.”

The merchant, a wiry man with a buzzard's nose, spat
on the ground close to Finn's boot. Finn noticed he had a tattoo of a fish with a woman's head and breasts, ranging from the bald pate of his head to the base of his scrawny neck. He wondered how he'd possibly overlooked this striking image before.

“I'm willing to pay,” Finn said, reaching in his jacket and showing the man a silver coin. “This is yours if you tell me what I want to know.”

“Be still my beatin' heart. How can I resist such a fortune as that?”

“Right. Two silver pieces, then.”

“Three. And they'd better be silver 'stead of plate of some sort. This is what I do all day, friend.”

“I'm looking for Mycer folk. I haven't seen any, but I'm certain they're around. One Rubinella, I believe. If you could just—”

Finn stopped at once. The merchant, a man of a light copper shade, went suddenly pale. As pale, in truth, as the man at the tavern, who would make three or four of the fellow here.

“Are you daft,” he said, his gaze shifting wildly about the marketplace, “are you possessed, brother, soft in the head, looking for a noose? Would you care to be cut into ribbons, roasted on a spit? Is there some kind of pain that you desire?”

“None of that at all,” Finn said, “Why do you ask?”

“Gata-watta-bool,” the man muttered, or words to that effect. His fingers clutched an amulet dangling from a chain about his neck. A quarter-moon, Finn noted, carved from adder stone, with a single opal eye.

“I meant no offense. All I asked was where could I find a—”

“I
heard
what you said. For the life of me, don't go sayin' it again.”

Rolling his eyes in a most peculiar way, he quickly tossed a cloth across his goods and loosed a cord that dangled overhead. At once a slatted curtain rattled past Finn to the ground.

“We're closed,” the merchant said, from behind his shabby blind. “All day, and tomorrow as well. Don't come back anytime. I won't be here the day after that.”

“What's wrong with you?” Finn said. “What did I do? Is there anyone sane in this place?”

He thrust the blinds aside, ready to give the fellow a piece of his mind. The stall was quite empty, the merchant had fled. Finn was disgusted, totally dashed. It was plain, he decided, that it wasn't the Mycers that set the locals foaming at the mouth. They'd all seen Letitia the day before, and doubtless there were other Mycers here.

It had to be the name, then: the Rubinella. Clearly, that bothered them a lot.

“I shall have to approach this some other way,” he told himself. “Rubinella is not too popular here …”

While no one offered him a smile or bothered to be polite, no one else went out of business when he offered to buy their wares. Finn bought long loaves of bread, overripe tomatoes, hot roasted corn on a stick. Cherries, berries, a crock of pickled cabbage, and a jar of plum jam. Oatcakes, sweetcakes, and sugary treats. Apples so brown and wizened, they all had faces like little old men.

He didn't buy a single turnip, and he didn't buy a fish. He did buy a straw basket to put his goods in. He didn't buy a thing they'd have to cook. Letitia would surely be delighted. The food would lift her spirits, and she wouldn't be angry for a while.

Finn was so hungry himself, he ate two loaves of the
bread, a great deal of cabbage and most of the jam. He didn't feel bad about eating before he got back. Certainly, Letitia wouldn't fault him for that.

It was pleasant to see foods of different colors again. Nothing in the market was gray. Nothing looked at all like the horrors that Squeen William served. Neither of the Nuccis seemed aware they ate glop, slop, gunk and toxic swill three times a day.

If the Hatters and the Hooters and folk who didn't go to church at all had any bias toward Newlies, it was nowhere in evidence here. Finn saw them everywhere. Stout, broad-shouldered Bullies who seldom showed expression beyond a blank stare. Snouters strutting lazily about. No Yowlies so far, and he was thankful for that. Bowsers a-plenty, though, yapping and marching about, wearing those ridiculous boaters Bowsers wore everywhere, getting in everyone's way.

Even a pair of Dobbins, tall and handsome creatures, with their outsize noses and kindly brown eyes. If there was any station, any rank among the Newlies, the Dobbins would surely be near the top. With the Yowlies at the bottom, by damn, as far as Finn was concerned.

Of the Favored Nine, those animals the outlaw magicians, Shar and Dankermain, had changed into beings very much like Man, Finn had seen all but one, even the shy elusive Badgie, known for its stealth and criminal enterprise. He had never, ever seen a Grizz, and hoped he never did. They were fierce, antisocial creatures who kept to themselves, mostly in the North. Finn had seen an etching of some, sitting in a forest by a fire. Everyone said that a Grizz loved fire, but no one said why.