The house of the Nuccis! It had to be! There was nothing, anywhere, that matched its warped and crooked lines, its odd delineation, its bizarre silhouette. Finn could have never imagined he'd be so pleased to see the place again. The road itself could not be very far. He was tempted to go straight ahead until it appeared. Even after the rain, the way would be easier than what he was crossing now.
Easier, yes-but more exposed as well. He kept to the low, muddy hillocks, the wet and marshy grass. The cover wasn't good, but it was better than waving a flag and letting one and all know he was there. A little closer, another few yards, and he'd be near enough to run for it, even if someone suddenly appeared on his tail.
He started walking, even faster than before, and then he heard them howling, huffing, making their way across the spongy earth, a small but noisome army of Hooters, stomping their way toward town before the day began. Finn cursed them soundly, muttered every oath he knew, and pressed himself against the sodden ground.
They were Hooters for sure. They hooted, hollered and danced about. Some, Finn could see, raising one eye above the mud, wore homemade feathers sewn to their arms. All wore Hooter beaks and goggle eyes, and all carried torches that they waved above their heads even though there was nothing anywhere dry enough to burn. Still, if you were a Hooter, Finn guessed, it was best to carry plenty of fire. One never knew what one might find.
He didn't move until they were clearly out of sight. They passed very close to the Nuccis, but caused no mischief there. Fortunate, indeed, for nothing he could think of would go up as quickly as that rotted, desiccated corpse the Nuccis called a house.
At last Finn came to his feet, miserable, cold and wet. He picked up his basket and scowled in the direction where the Hooters had disappeared. Cutting it rather close, he decided. It was nearly daylight now, and that meant Hatter time. Was it too much to hope that the louts in yellow hats would meet the oafs with goggle eyes, and start a religious war?
The house was closer now, grim and gray as ever, tilting every way but straight. He thought about what the seer had told him, about the blanket spell. Who was responsible for that? Sabatino, Calabus himself?
No, the Mycer lady had been too impressed. It was a powerful load of magic, and he didn't think either of the Nuccis could handle such as that.
Who, then? The more he thought about it, the more it seemed a peculiar spell indeed … It clouded a secret that even the Rubinella couldn't see, a secret so strong Finn couldn't even spit it out.
He'd been pondering that one ever since he left the seer. Why bother to protect the old man's Prophecy Machine, if it wasn't even real, but only a lunatic's dream? Was it something else, then? Something down there besides the mad device?
“Foxers can get in the house, and possibly anyone else … if the spell is so awesome, why can't it keep them out …?”
There seemed to be an answer to that, one with a certain sense of reason-if, that is, there was reason in magic at all. Anyone could get in the cellar-anyone who had the old man's key-but once you saw the thing, it clouded your mind, and you couldn't speak of it again.
So, logically, if you came to harm it, what might it do then? Finn shuddered at the thought. If it could stop your tongue, what could it do to all your other parts?
Maybe Letitia could see him, he thought. She could, if she was there in their room, if she was looking at the time. The windows were so grimy, so totally askew, Finn wasn't sure he could spot the right one from the outside of the house-
A high and piercing shriek brought Finn to a halt, brought the hair up straight atop his head. He went to ground again, slipped his blade free, and peered through the stand of brittle grass.
There was scarcely any cover on that damp and barren plain, other than a thicket of weeds, of dead and tangled trees, huddled close against the house. Finn saw something move there, something very fast fleeing through the grass.
Another shriek, another horrid wail. Finn had heard nothing like it, such a grate, such a screech, such a raw intrusion on the nerves, such an unworldly shrill. He came up in a crouch, saw the weeds tremble, saw the twisted branches shake.
The form moved again-when it did, Finn moved swiftly, determined to cut it off and bring it to a halt.
The creature had extraordinary senses. It froze the instant Finn made his move.
“Whoever you are, you can halt right now,” Finn shouted, “I'll brook no more nonsense this day-”
The words were scarcely out of his mouth before something burst through brittle foliage, shrieking and whining, an assault upon his ears. Finn stepped quickly aside, raised his weapon-stopped in his tracks, stood there and stared.
Julia Jessica Slagg scuttled past him, lizard legs a-blur, moving at a speed Finn had never imagined she could go. Just behind her came something with a hop, something with a gimp, something that scuffled and staggered and dipped, something dark and damp with a pinched little face and shaggy ears. Something, he saw, no less than Squeen William himself, clutching a wretched broom, swatting at Julia, shrieking and shouting and gnashing wicked teeth.
“Hold it, you, hold it right there!” Finn took three long steps, grabbed the Vampie by the scruff, jerked him off his ugly feet, leaving him swatting air.
“I don't know what you're up to or why, but it's over right now. Drop the broom, Squeen, and stop that noise before you ruin my ears for good!”
Squeen's answer was another shriek, even shriller than before. He spit, spat, ground his razor teeth, stared up at Finn with his fearful Vampie eyes.
“I can't blame you for being thick-headed, considering who you work for. Now get out of here while I've still got a kindly mood to spare.”
With that, Finn loosed the wretched fellow, dropped him to the ground, gave him a kick and sent him on his way. The Vampie whined and whimpered, sniveled and yelled, fell in the brush, rose and hit a tree, stumbled to his feet and scampered toward the kitchen door.
Finn turned away in disgust. “Julia, where might you be? Call out or something, I can't see a thing in this tangle of desiccated grass.”
“Move an inch with that dirty boot of yours, and you'll step on my head …”
Finn looked down, startled by the croak, by the too familiar squawk, by the cranky voice right at his feet.
“Will you tell me what that is all about?” he said, squatting to the ground. “Why is that fleabag after you with a broom? What are you doing out here with Letitia up there all alone?”
“I'm fine, I'm not hurt badly, thank you for your gracious concern. Would you turn me over, please? This is undignified and crude, a plain humiliation at best.”
Finn tried to keep a solemn face. Julia did indeed look somewhat improper lying on her back, legs churning in the air.
“I'll have to look at that,” he said, setting her aright. “I'd guess a balance wheel is somewhat off the track. Possibly a spinner gear, it's hard to tell which. If you wish, I'll carry you back to the house.”
“I don't wish, Finn. I am quite accustomed to taking care of myself. Which is lucky indeed, since I seldom get any help.”
“Whatever you like,” Finn said. “And you haven't answered my questions, being so busy crying about yourself-”
At that instant, a familiar howl erupted from the house, a howl and a scream and some other sounds as well.
Finn raced for the door, Julia on his heels, slightly off center, but clearly under sail.
At the entry, at the shabby front steps, Finn paused, listening to the clamor, then raised one foot and kicked the door in.
The door nearly vanished, crumbled into powder, scattered into pulp, back to basic dust. Finn stopped short and drew a breath, taking in a most peculiar sight. Squeen William writhed on the floor, flailing about, caught in the tangle of a cruel corded net that had dropped from above. The net was laced with barbs, hooks, nails and broken glass.