Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 68525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
A noise of tearing added itself to the sounds of the creaking machinery, and I watched in alarm as the seamless fabric that had covered the wall ripped in a rectangular pattern. The shape of a small door appeared, corresponding to the part of the wall that seemed suddenly to move more freely, until it had swung all the way inward.
My master turned to face us. “There are more elegant escape tunnels—less destructive and obvious, anyway—but this is the only one not on the blueprints. They’ll know I’ve fled, of course, but presumably that’s going to be obvious from the unauthorized launch we’re about to make through the palace roof.”
As my mistress hurried me forward towards the door, I tried to sort out at least some small number of my thoughts and feelings. To my dismay, the only one that seemed to shine clearly, like a beacon in my chest, was that feeling that I wanted to keep looking at the smile on my master’s face. Very belatedly I realized that by seeing that expression, by learning how very handsome he could look when he had just done something decisive and intelligent, I had misbehaved. With a lurch of my stomach, though, I realized that the thought that he had another reason to take me over his knee only made the beacon shine brighter. I felt my brow furrow hard, and I bit my lip, and I did lower my eyes as my mistress led me into the dusty tunnel revealed by the hidden door. How could I want to be back over his lordship’s knee, with my panties down?
I love him. I swallowed very hard, feeling grateful that the baron was bringing up the rear of our little party as we rushed along the tunnel. Even I had to stoop to keep from bumping my head against the low ceiling, and I knew my master must nearly be crouching. I love him, I thought again, helplessly, picturing it, how the tension in his athletic build must make him look like a coiled spring.
How can I? How can I even think that?
We climbed a flight of stairs, the ceiling opening up so that I could see we were approaching the rafters of the palace, mighty wooden beams that looked as if they had supported the roof of House Gravamir for hundreds of years. The launch pad lay at the top of the steps, and on it sat a small craft, just as dusty as the rest of these secret spaces. As we approached, its smooth, apparently featureless surface lit up here and there, and I realized those sections of the fuselage must be windows, or portholes, or whatever they called them in the adventure stories.
A ramp folded down from the fuselage, then—just like in the stories, I couldn’t help thinking, when the hero or heroine went off into space to do glorious deeds.
“Well, Chalondra,” I heard my master say, and I felt his hand on my shoulder. “I know they don’t let you see the stars when you travel with the company. With any luck, you’re going to see them in a few moments, though.”
I love him. The rational part of me pleaded with my spirit, with my heart, with the beacon his lordship had somehow put in my chest. I had no argument to make in reply: I had enough intelligence to understand that the emotion represented the kind of love they often called infatuation in books. And I hadn’t stopped fearing my master, either. But the warmth in his voice, the clear genuineness of his wish that I should see outer space—they only made my affection stronger.
“Franla,” he said, “please get yourself and Chalondra on board. I have some things to check before we launch.”
The ship—I didn’t know what else to call it, even though it seemed much too small to deserve the same name as the spacefaring vessels I had still only seen in pictures—had four seats, and no space for anything else except what could only be the craft’s controls. The windows I had seen light up looked very small from the inside, even the one above the panel with the blinking lights, under which I could see what had to be the steering device—the “stick” or perhaps the “yoke”? I couldn’t remember what they had called it in the stories, when they flew off on their missions.
I waited for Mistress Franla to take one of the two front seats, but though she had gotten in first, she stood aside in the narrow companionway.
“Your master will want you beside him, my dear,” she said, her words making me blink in confusion. My heart beat faster, but it seemed such a strange idea that I stopped in my tracks and looked into my mistress’ eyes. She smiled, the right side of her mouth ascending a little higher than the left, as if she hadn’t meant to show me her pleasure at my puzzlement.