Freedom: A Futuristic Fantasy

by Jim Proctor

  Emmett moved quickly and knelt before her. He untied and removed the proffered shoe and then slipped the boot on. Working with practiced fingers, he drew the laces taut and tied them. Venefica extended her other leg, and he exchanged the shoe for a boot. She stood and swept out of the room, leaving Emmett behind. He got to his feet and rushed after her, though he knew his job would be to wait at the door until called. As he hurried along the hallway, he heard the door to the stairs shut. Reaching the door, he pressed an ear against the wood and listened.

  Clack… clack… clack… the sound of Venefica’s boots faded away, though Emmett knew the sound grew louder in the dungeon. He imagined her remaining prisoners cowering in their cells, awaiting her approach. He waited, unable to hear the exchange going on below. Who would it be this time?

  Emmett jumped when the bell rang, He opened the door and raced down the steps, eager for someone, whoever it was, to escape. Nearing the bottom, he did his best to look distressed.

  “Emmett, we’ll be taking Victus to the Chamber of Doors now. Please open his cell.”

  “Yes, mistress,” Emmett said as he crossed the room, fumbled with the keys, and opened the cell door. Swinging the bars back, he stood aside.

  Victus stood, pushed back his shoulders, and strode out of the cell. Going directly to the staircase, he began climbing.

  “That’s what I like to see,” Venefica said. “A willing participant.”

  She was lying, Emmett knew. He could feel her anger growing. She loved to see the look of horror as she forced her victim’s body to defy their own mind, marching to death, unstoppable. Her gown swished as she turned and went after Victus, soles tapping on the stone with every step. Emmett followed as always, pausing half a turn from the top to grab the torch. Then, joining the pair in the chamber, he quickly went about the task of lighting the torches while Venefica explained her little game.

  By the time he returned to the staircase, Venefica was instructing Victus to choose a door.

  The man looked briefly at Emmett before turning and walking to the wall. Around the room he went, examining each door, pressing his hand against them each in turn. He eyed one door curiously before continuing around the room. Then, having examined all the doors, he went back the other way examining the doors again. Grasping a doorknob, he threw the door back and rushed through. They heard his rapid footfalls fade away as the door swung shut behind him.

  She knew. She couldn’t know what he had done, but she knew he had done something to betray her. She looked at him for a moment before turning and storming down the steps.

  Emmett sighed. Maybe she didn’t know. Perhaps all he had felt was her anger at another prisoner choosing the door to freedom. Emmett looked at the twenty-nine light gray doors and the one pale yellow door through which Victus had just exited. She couldn’t know.

  His relief was short lived when he heard her scream his name. Turning, he ran down a few steps, returned the torch to its sconce, and then ran all the way to her bedroom.

  “I’m sorry, mistress. I had some difficulty mounting the torch in its sconce,” he lied.

  “Remove my boots, Emmett,” she said quietly.

  He had never seen her like this before. She seemed sad. She didn’t even hike up her dress or extend a leg. She sat on the edge of the bed, hands on her thighs, staring at the floor.

  Carefully, he unlaced her boots and gently removed them. He could fake some compassion for her if that was what it took to help keep his secret safe. There was one more prisoner to save, and he hoped she didn’t collect any new ones for a while. He waited for her to request shoes of a certain color. Instead, she waved him away.

  “Go. Feed Laeta her breakfast and then clean up. Do not disturb me, Emmett.”

  “Yes, mistress,” he said with a bow that went unnoticed. Turning, he stepped into the hall and closed the door.

  In the kitchen, Emmett served a generous breakfast portion for Laeta and placed it on a tray along with a spoon. After a moment, he peeked around the corner before stepping into the dining room where he paused and listened for any sound. Crossing the room, he paused at the hallway. The witch’s door was still closed, and nothing could be heard from beyond. Rushing back to the kitchen, he filled a mug with hot coffee and added it to the tray before carrying it quickly to the stairwell.

  Down he went to the dungeon and crossed to Laeta’s cell.

  “No screaming,” Laeta whispered when Emmett reached her door.

  Emmett looked at her for a moment and nodded.

  “Victus got away, didn’t he?” she asked so softly he barely heard.

  Smiling slightly, he nodded.

  “And Hostia, too. She got away last time.”

  His smiled grew a little. “Yes,” he said. The word was barely more than a breath leaving his mouth.

  “You’ve done something, haven’t you?” Laeta whispered.

  “Eat your breakfast,” Emmett said softly as he passed her the bowl through a narrow slot in the bars. Next, he passed her the steaming mug of coffee before sliding the tray under the door. With a brief smile, he turned and headed for the steps.

  “Emmett,” Laeta said softly.

  He paused and then returned to her door.

  “Even if I don’t make it, thank you for trying. And thank you for saving Victus and Hostia,” she said softly.

  Emmett nodded. “I’ll be back for the dishes soon.” Turning, he rushed to the stairs and began climbing.

  Pouring himself a mug of coffee, Emmett sipped it slowly as he walked through the dining room to the end of the hallway. He was permitted to indulge in the occasional cup, though he rarely did. Today was special. Also, if Venefica came out of her room and smelled the coffee he had taken to Laeta, this would explain it. The prisoners were not permitted coffee.

  Going to the table, he set his mug down and piled the dirty dishes onto a tray. Setting it on the kitchen counter, he began filling the sink with hot water and dish soap. He scraped the remnants of Venefica’s meal into the trash and slipped the dishes into the sink. Then, refilling his mug, he went to the stairwell and headed down.

  As he reached Laeta’s cell, he heard the upstairs door open. Quickly, he took her mug from her, dashed into the next cell, and slipped it under the pillow. Darting out of the cell, he sat on a wooden bench across from the cell doors, crossed his legs, and sipped his coffee.

  Venefica, barefooted, came silently around the corner. “I smell coffee, Emmett.”

  He looked up at her and then quickly stood, pretending she had surprised him. “Yes, mistress. I took the liberty of pouring myself a small mug. I came down to collect Laeta’s dishes and brought it with me. I wanted to enjoy it while it was still hot. Laeta wasn’t quite finished her meal, so I sat and sipped while I waited.”

  “Liar!” Laeta shouted. “He stood at my cell door fanning the hot coffee smell at me! Damn him!”

  Venefica laughed. “Oh, Emmett, have you been playing with our guest?”

  Emmett looked at the floor.

  “I didn’t know you had it in you. You might not be completely useless, after all,” the witch said. “Collect the dishes and get on with the washing up.”

  “Yes, mistress,” he said as he rushed to the cell door and took the bowl from Laeta.

  “Bastard. I hope the coffee burned your tongue,” she said.

  Bending down, he pulled the tray under the door, stacked the dishes for the climb, and turned around. Venefica was already on her way up the steps.

  A cold wave of relief rushed over him. He wouldn’t risk taking up the second mug right now. She might see it. He smiled at Laeta over his shoulder and then hurried up the stairs and through the door. Her bedroom door was closed. Crossing the dining room, he entered the kitchen and put the dishes into the sink.

  When the cleaning was done, Emmett walked softly down the hallway toward his mistress’ bedroom. Barely on the cusp of hearing, he thought she was crying. Surely not. It had to be his imagination. Turning, he went ba
ck, turned right, passed the door to the dungeon steps, and went along the hallway to her office. The door was open, and the room was empty. Taking a dusting cloth from the broom closet, he entered her office and began making sure the room was spotless.

  Chapter 17

  “Well, Port Zebron is still there,” Angus said. “I don’t see any smoke or flames.”

  Rupert stepped over to the front window and peered into the distance.

  “Do you think the kid actually managed to run the place while I was gone?”

  Angus chuckled. “It’s too early to tell. I can see several airships circling the port.”

  Rupert pulled out his cell phone and dialed.

  “Hey, kid, how are things going?” he asked when his assistant answered. After a long pause, he slipped the phone into his pocket.

  “Well?” Angus asked.

  Rupert smiled. “He’s got five airships wanting permission to land, and he’s got three pads available, but he can’t remember who requested landing in what order, and they’re all fighting over who’s turn it is to land. He told me to call back later and hung up on me.”

  Angus nodded. “He did a lot better than I expected.”

  “Me, too,” Rupert said. “I’ll give him time to sort things out, then I’ll call back and tell him we have an airship in tow.”

  “You know that empty field north of the market? Let’s take our friends there and let them land. You can tell them the port is jammed up right now and we can’t get a pad for a while,” Angus said.

  “But they have no fuel. When a pad opens, they won’t be able to get there,” Rupert objected.

  “You could have one of your technicians drive a pump truck out there to give them some fuel.”

  Rupert smiled. “That would take some time to arrange. They could be stuck there for hours.”

  “That would be a shame,” Angus said with a laugh.

  “I like it,” Rupert said. He pulled out his phone and dialed the kid again and tapped the speakerphone icon.

  “Boss, I’m really swamped.”

  “Hey, Trevor, listen… we have an airship in tow. The idiot captain ran out of fuel more than a day out from shore. We’re going to take him to the emergency landing field and get him to set down there.”

  “You can take him anywhere you want to, just don’t ask me for a pad,” Trevor said.

  “Well, I’m going to need a pad for a few minutes, so make one available,” Rupert said.

  “What do I tell the captains who are waiting for landing clearance?” Trevor objected.

  “You can tell them anything you want. We’re coming in and landing on a pad.”

  “But boss,” Trevor said, “they’re already yelling at me. Plus, I’ve got four ships on pads waiting for fuel, and only two pump techs showed up for work today.”

  “Trevor,” Rupert interrupted. “Take a deep breath. After we drop this guy in the field, I’ll guide Captain Beaph to the owner’s pad on the other side of the field. Tell Mr. Carlson we’ll only need his pad for five minutes. Send a truck for me and my gear. I’m not walking home from Carlson’s place.”

  “Yes, sir,” Trevor said. “Look, I have to go!”

  “Good luck, kid,” Rupert said and then hung up.

  Angus steered the ship toward the north end of town. As the shore approached, he could see the clearing ahead.

  “They probably won’t like this,” Rupert said.

  “I’m sure they won’t, but it’s better than drifting on the wind to your death,” Angus said.

  Turning into the wind, Angus slowed his ship as they passed over the shore. As they passed over the edge of the clearing, he slowed further. Over the center of the field, he matched the wind speed and slowly descended.

  “Hold us here,” Rupert said, “I’ll go and give him the good news.”

  Reaching the stern railing, Rupert found the two men standing at the bow of their ship waiting for him.

  “The port is backed up!” he yelled through his cupped hands. “You’ll have to set down here. There are some anchors you can tie off to temporarily!”

  “But how will we get fuel?” the tall man yelled back.

  “I’m the port master! I’ll get a truck out here as soon as I get to my personal pad,” Rupert yelled.

  The two men on the other ship looked at each other. Finally, the tall man yelled, “This is your port?”

  “I don’t own it, but I run it,” Rupert yelled. “You set down and tie off. As soon as my ship is in its hangar, I’ll send a fuel truck out here to take care of you.”

  The tall man turned and went into the wheelhouse while the stocky man waited at the bow. A moment later, their ship began to sink slowly. Finally, it touched the ground, rocked a bit, and then settled. The stocky man untied the tow rope, which went slack and slid through the bow ring and fell to the ground. Rupert waved, and then began reeling in the tow rope.

  “The lines are stowed and secure,” Rupert said when he returned to the wheelhouse. “Let’s go. The owner’s pad is west of the control tower a bit. I’ll show you as we get closer. I told them this was my ship and I’d be putting it into a hangar.”

  “Hopefully they believed you. Still, keep them here for a couple of hours,” Angus said. “No sense taking any chances.”

  Rupert smiled. “Don’t worry. They won’t be leaving here anytime soon.”

  Angus flew low over the trees, in part due to the circling airships overhead, and in part to remain out of sight of the two they had left in the field. Flying around the edge of the field, Angus saw the owner’s private pad next to a large hangar beyond the control tower.

  “That’s it,” Rupert said as he pointed.

  Several minutes later, the ship was on the pad. Rupert gathered his belongings while Angus packed some Ocean Bass into a box. He followed Rupert to the gangplank and down onto the platform.

  “Here, I packed some fish for you. I figured we could spare a few minutes, under the circumstances,” Angus said.

  “Angus, I had a great time. Thanks for taking me.”

  “You’re welcome, my friend. I’m sorry the trip got cut short. We’ll do better next year,” Angus said.

  “I’ll be ready. Now, you get out of here. Keep it low and slow so those guys won’t see or hear you. With any luck, they’ll believe this is my ship and it’s in a hangar,” Rupert said.

  “Thanks, Rupert. I’ll see you again, soon,” Angus said. He turned and walked up the gangplank.

  Rupert watched as the ship lifted and moved slowly away to the south. Two of the owner’s personal ground crew members drove up in a truck and waved to him.

  “We’re here to give you a ride to the tower,” the driver said.

  “First, you’ll have to take me home. I need to drop off my gear and put these fish away. Then we can go to the tower,” Rupert said.

  The driver looked worried, but finally said, “Okay, as long as you’re quick. The owner is in the control tower now, and he said to get you up there right away.”

  Rupert smiled. “I can’t wait to see him,” he said. Wait until I tell him I’m retiring, he added to himself.

  * * * *

  Venandi cursed as he walked down the gangplank. “They left us out here on purpose, and I’ll bet you any sum you wish to name that our fuel truck won’t get here for a couple of hours.”

  “Maybe, sir. Still, it could just be that the port is busy right now. And what did you think about Captain Watson saying that was his ship?”

  “I don’t believe him,” Venandi said. “It clearly wasn’t diesel powered, nor electric. That was a nuclear-powered airship, Dolus. It couldn’t have been anything else.”

  “Okay, but maybe there’s more than one,” Dolus said.

  “I suppose it’s possible. Still, I’m sure that was Beaph’s airship,” Venandi said. “Right now, we need to secure the ship. There are supposed to be anchors here, somewhere. See what you can find, Dolus.”

  Dolus hurried off, searching the groun
d around the ship. Venandi stood, looking toward the roadway leading up from the port, wishing to see a fuel truck.

  “Here’s one, Captain!” Dolus yelled.

  Venandi walked to the hull, grabbed the end of a mooring line, and began pulling it across the field toward Dolus.

  “See here, boss,” Dolus said. “They’re painted orange. It shouldn’t be hard to find the others.”

  “Tie this one off and then search for more. We’ll be here a while, so we better make her secure,” the captain said.

  “Yes, sir.”

  With six lines tied off, the pair climbed the gangplank onto the deck. Dolus went into the wheelhouse while Venandi paced back and forth watching the road. Eventually, he gave up and went inside.

  Venandi was sitting at the chart table with his face in his hands when he heard a truck approaching. Jumping up, he ran out onto the deck. The fuel truck was moving slowly across the field, bouncing and rocking over the rough ground. Nearly three hours had passed since they landed.

  “Dolus!” Venandi yelled.

  Dolus ran up the steps and joined him on deck.

  “See to the fueling. I’ll pay him as soon as he’s done, and we’ll go after Beaph.”

  “Yes, sir,” Dolus said as he hurried down the gangplank.

  The truck came to a stop. A thin, young man climbed out and began unreeling a hose. Dolus grabbed a step ladder from the truck and set it up below the fueling port.

  The fuel transfer took longer than expected. The flow rate of the truck’s small pump was nowhere near that of the dedicated dockside pumps. Venandi paced the deck, waiting for the man to finish.

  When his tanks were full, he jogged down the gangplank. “How much do I owe you?”

  The young man pulled out a tablet. He typed in some numbers and then passed the tablet to Venandi.

  “Fair rate,” he said. “I see you deleted the charge for delivering out here.”

  “Yes, sir. My boss said the delivery is complementary for you. He also asked me to extend his most sincere regret for the delay. The port is swamped, and two of our fuel technicians called in sick today. I normally do the helium fills, but I’m doing double duty today,” the man said.