The Master of Ceremonies (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
i_am_your_host) wrote2016-12-12 05:51 pm
i_am_your_host) wrote2016-12-12 05:51 pm
Entry tags:
OOM - The Escape Part 5: not the end
“Quickly, now,” said Maurice in a low voice as he shepherded Emcee, Herman, and Helga down the alley and out the other end. “Straight ahead. Keep quiet.”
Helga held Herman’s hand tightly as Emcee kept close. The sound of their hasty footsteps on the cobblestones seemed louder in the stillness of the night. Maurice stayed in the shadows out of the streetlamps, and the trio did their best to keep up while remaining just as silent. From what they could see of him, he was young, stocky, with straw-colored hair that stuck out from underneath a seaman’s knit cap. He moved with familiarity and precision, as if he had gone this route before.
The houses began to thin out, and the whisper of gentle waves lapping against dock posts and the hulls of boats could be heard. Faint lights twinkled on the black surface of the water.
“I’ve got a friend helping us, so don’t be alarmed,” said Maurice as they made their way along the canal that opened onto the Elbe River. “Also, two other people will be joining you.”
“What?” said Emcee, unprepared for this addition. “Who?”
“Some fellow travelers seeking passage just like you,” he replied.
Emcee hadn’t thought of that. That others were having as difficult a time breaking free as he and his own friends were. That others were braving dangers that they were facing as well. Somehow, in his otherness, he didn’t quite feel so alone.
Maurice led them to a shed across from a marina where some fishing boats were docked. He tapped on the door twice, and then opened it just wide enough for Emcee, Herman, and Helga to slip through. Maurice followed and shut the door behind them. It was dim inside, but someone brightened the light of an oil lantern.
The glow illuminated three strangers: a dark-eyed woman wrapped in a coat too large for her; a man somewhat younger than her, clutching her hand; and another man dressed similarly to Maurice, holding the lantern and a pair of binoculars. He wordlessly handed the lantern over to Maurice, and went back to spying out a small, narrow window that faced the river.
“Sit anywhere,” said Maurice, as he dimmed the light.
There weren’t any chairs, just barrels and crates and spools of rope amid the tools and fishing gear.
“So, here’s the plan,” Maurice continued, leaning back against the door. “A cargo ship will be coming down the river from Hamburg. Around midnight, it should reach here, and it will stop at the end of the pier just long enough to get you on board. You’ll have to move quickly, because ships of that class aren’t authorized to dock here, not at this hour. So make sure you’ve got everything, and be prepared to run.”
There was an uneasy silence for a moment.
Then Emcee ventured quietly, “That wasn’t a very comforting concluding statement.”
Maurice couldn't help a dry chuckle at that. “Well, this isn’t exactly a day at the beach, is it?” he said. “As long as we stay alert, everything will be fine.”
Everything will be fine. This was becoming sort of a mantra threading itself through this entire ordeal. Yet it was the only assurance that anyone could truly have any hope in.
Maurice checked his wristwatch. “We have a little while before the ship shows up,” he said. “I’m going back outside to keep an eye on things. I would advise you to not talk to one another. Hell, I don’t know who any of you are except for that bastard over there.”
The man with the binoculars uttered a rasping grunt in reply.
“All I’m saying is, the less you know, the better,” Maurice clarified. “There’ll be time enough for pleasantries when you’re safe aboard the ship.” And with that, he slipped out the door.
There was dead silence again.
“So,” Emcee sighed, looking over at the woman and man holding hands, “come here often?”
The young man cracked a smile, and the woman huffed a soft laugh and shook her head.
If those ten minutes back at the Riverside Pub were the longest Emcee and his friends had ever experienced, then this was equivalent to an eternity.
Eventually, the man looking through the binoculars sounded a bird-like whistle. Shortly after, the shed door opened, and Maurice stepped in.
“Almost here?” he said.
“Practically here,” the man replied in the affirmative. "They'll be docking in a few minutes."
“Has everyone got their belongings?” Maurice turned the lantern light up a little brighter so that everyone could see.
Emcee, Herman, and Helga picked up their small suitcases. Their companions seemed to share one larger suitcase, which the young man carried. He still hadn’t let go of the woman’s hand.
"Right," Maurice said, dimming the light again. "Remember what I said. Move quickly. And stay together. Go all the way to the end of the pier and don't stop. Ready?"
The tension filling the air in that little shed was so taut that the walls might have burst.
Maurice opened the door.
"Go!"
The woman and the young man exited first and hurried down the long pier toward the dim lights at the end of it.
Herman followed, then Helga. Emcee was next.
The cargo ship was approaching, its deck hands moving to quickly lower a ramp off the side.
Maurice and his friend brought up the rear of the procession, hanging back a little just to make sure the coast was clear--
"Stop!" a voice barked in the darkness.
And at the sound of such a small, harsh word, so much happened, so quickly.
"Who are you? Where are those people going?"
"There's been a misunderstanding, I can explain-"
"Officers, stop them, bring them here-"
"Sir, I can assure you-!"
"You're not supposed to be here. You're under arrest for trespassing-"
"I work here, this is my boat-!"
"Then who are they? All of you! Stop and turn around, now!"
In just a second's hesitation, Emcee felt a firm hand grasp his arm and yank him backwards, and he dropped his suitcase. Helga cried out and grabbed his other arm. He reached for Herman. Their hands missed one another, swiping at air as they were all dragged apart.
"Let go!"
"Come with me!"
"Get them!"
"What ship is that and where is it going?"
"Stop the ship!"
"Smugglers, they're smugglers!"
Screaming. Crying. Shouting. It was so dark, nobody could see anything but peaked caps and neat uniforms and the glint of silver buttons.
"HALT! OR WE WILL SHOOT!"
Running boots pounded on the wooden planks of the pier.
"No, no, please-"
"No-!"
"We have papers-"
"Let me go-"
"Do not resist!"
Gunshots split the night air.
CRACK
CRACK CRACK
More screaming.
"Get them! GET THEM!"
In the chaos and confusion, two people suddenly lay bleeding into the ground.
The bearded man, clutching his shoulder, his binoculars shattered.
And Emcee.
He couldn't believe it. He couldn't believe the searing pain that ripped though his body. He couldn't believe the hot, wet, stickiness that gushed through his shirt, through his coat, spilling through his fingers.
He couldn't believe that it was going to end this way.
Screaming. Crying.
Was he screaming and crying? Or was it other people? He couldn't tell.
"Arrest them, arrest them all."
"What about that one?"
"Is he dead?"
"I'll make sure."
"Never mind, deal with it later. Get the others! Round them up!"
"Yes, sir."
No. No. No.
This isn't how it's supposed to be.
Emcee lifted his head. The door of the shed seemed so much clearer to him. He tried to crawl toward it, but his legs wouldn't move.
One hand covering his bleeding stomach, he dug the fingers of his other hand into the dirt and dragged himself closer. Closer. And closer.
He still heard the screaming and the crying. He figured that it wasn't him.
He thought hard about the ocean blue glass key fob that he wore around his neck on a thin chain. He thought hard about how it was his one link back to Milliways. He thought incredibly hard about it. Hard enough that when he reached up and grasped the handle with fingers slippery with blood, the door cracked open, and a sliver of light shined through.
Emcee pulled himself inside, and the door sealed shut behind him.
Helga held Herman’s hand tightly as Emcee kept close. The sound of their hasty footsteps on the cobblestones seemed louder in the stillness of the night. Maurice stayed in the shadows out of the streetlamps, and the trio did their best to keep up while remaining just as silent. From what they could see of him, he was young, stocky, with straw-colored hair that stuck out from underneath a seaman’s knit cap. He moved with familiarity and precision, as if he had gone this route before.
The houses began to thin out, and the whisper of gentle waves lapping against dock posts and the hulls of boats could be heard. Faint lights twinkled on the black surface of the water.
“I’ve got a friend helping us, so don’t be alarmed,” said Maurice as they made their way along the canal that opened onto the Elbe River. “Also, two other people will be joining you.”
“What?” said Emcee, unprepared for this addition. “Who?”
“Some fellow travelers seeking passage just like you,” he replied.
Emcee hadn’t thought of that. That others were having as difficult a time breaking free as he and his own friends were. That others were braving dangers that they were facing as well. Somehow, in his otherness, he didn’t quite feel so alone.
Maurice led them to a shed across from a marina where some fishing boats were docked. He tapped on the door twice, and then opened it just wide enough for Emcee, Herman, and Helga to slip through. Maurice followed and shut the door behind them. It was dim inside, but someone brightened the light of an oil lantern.
The glow illuminated three strangers: a dark-eyed woman wrapped in a coat too large for her; a man somewhat younger than her, clutching her hand; and another man dressed similarly to Maurice, holding the lantern and a pair of binoculars. He wordlessly handed the lantern over to Maurice, and went back to spying out a small, narrow window that faced the river.
“Sit anywhere,” said Maurice, as he dimmed the light.
There weren’t any chairs, just barrels and crates and spools of rope amid the tools and fishing gear.
“So, here’s the plan,” Maurice continued, leaning back against the door. “A cargo ship will be coming down the river from Hamburg. Around midnight, it should reach here, and it will stop at the end of the pier just long enough to get you on board. You’ll have to move quickly, because ships of that class aren’t authorized to dock here, not at this hour. So make sure you’ve got everything, and be prepared to run.”
There was an uneasy silence for a moment.
Then Emcee ventured quietly, “That wasn’t a very comforting concluding statement.”
Maurice couldn't help a dry chuckle at that. “Well, this isn’t exactly a day at the beach, is it?” he said. “As long as we stay alert, everything will be fine.”
Everything will be fine. This was becoming sort of a mantra threading itself through this entire ordeal. Yet it was the only assurance that anyone could truly have any hope in.
Maurice checked his wristwatch. “We have a little while before the ship shows up,” he said. “I’m going back outside to keep an eye on things. I would advise you to not talk to one another. Hell, I don’t know who any of you are except for that bastard over there.”
The man with the binoculars uttered a rasping grunt in reply.
“All I’m saying is, the less you know, the better,” Maurice clarified. “There’ll be time enough for pleasantries when you’re safe aboard the ship.” And with that, he slipped out the door.
There was dead silence again.
“So,” Emcee sighed, looking over at the woman and man holding hands, “come here often?”
The young man cracked a smile, and the woman huffed a soft laugh and shook her head.
If those ten minutes back at the Riverside Pub were the longest Emcee and his friends had ever experienced, then this was equivalent to an eternity.
Eventually, the man looking through the binoculars sounded a bird-like whistle. Shortly after, the shed door opened, and Maurice stepped in.
“Almost here?” he said.
“Practically here,” the man replied in the affirmative. "They'll be docking in a few minutes."
“Has everyone got their belongings?” Maurice turned the lantern light up a little brighter so that everyone could see.
Emcee, Herman, and Helga picked up their small suitcases. Their companions seemed to share one larger suitcase, which the young man carried. He still hadn’t let go of the woman’s hand.
"Right," Maurice said, dimming the light again. "Remember what I said. Move quickly. And stay together. Go all the way to the end of the pier and don't stop. Ready?"
The tension filling the air in that little shed was so taut that the walls might have burst.
Maurice opened the door.
"Go!"
The woman and the young man exited first and hurried down the long pier toward the dim lights at the end of it.
Herman followed, then Helga. Emcee was next.
The cargo ship was approaching, its deck hands moving to quickly lower a ramp off the side.
Maurice and his friend brought up the rear of the procession, hanging back a little just to make sure the coast was clear--
"Stop!" a voice barked in the darkness.
And at the sound of such a small, harsh word, so much happened, so quickly.
"Who are you? Where are those people going?"
"There's been a misunderstanding, I can explain-"
"Officers, stop them, bring them here-"
"Sir, I can assure you-!"
"You're not supposed to be here. You're under arrest for trespassing-"
"I work here, this is my boat-!"
"Then who are they? All of you! Stop and turn around, now!"
In just a second's hesitation, Emcee felt a firm hand grasp his arm and yank him backwards, and he dropped his suitcase. Helga cried out and grabbed his other arm. He reached for Herman. Their hands missed one another, swiping at air as they were all dragged apart.
"Let go!"
"Come with me!"
"Get them!"
"What ship is that and where is it going?"
"Stop the ship!"
"Smugglers, they're smugglers!"
Screaming. Crying. Shouting. It was so dark, nobody could see anything but peaked caps and neat uniforms and the glint of silver buttons.
"HALT! OR WE WILL SHOOT!"
Running boots pounded on the wooden planks of the pier.
"No, no, please-"
"No-!"
"We have papers-"
"Let me go-"
"Do not resist!"
Gunshots split the night air.
CRACK
CRACK CRACK
More screaming.
"Get them! GET THEM!"
In the chaos and confusion, two people suddenly lay bleeding into the ground.
The bearded man, clutching his shoulder, his binoculars shattered.
And Emcee.
He couldn't believe it. He couldn't believe the searing pain that ripped though his body. He couldn't believe the hot, wet, stickiness that gushed through his shirt, through his coat, spilling through his fingers.
He couldn't believe that it was going to end this way.
Screaming. Crying.
Was he screaming and crying? Or was it other people? He couldn't tell.
"Arrest them, arrest them all."
"What about that one?"
"Is he dead?"
"I'll make sure."
"Never mind, deal with it later. Get the others! Round them up!"
"Yes, sir."
No. No. No.
This isn't how it's supposed to be.
Emcee lifted his head. The door of the shed seemed so much clearer to him. He tried to crawl toward it, but his legs wouldn't move.
One hand covering his bleeding stomach, he dug the fingers of his other hand into the dirt and dragged himself closer. Closer. And closer.
He still heard the screaming and the crying. He figured that it wasn't him.
He thought hard about the ocean blue glass key fob that he wore around his neck on a thin chain. He thought hard about how it was his one link back to Milliways. He thought incredibly hard about it. Hard enough that when he reached up and grasped the handle with fingers slippery with blood, the door cracked open, and a sliver of light shined through.
Emcee pulled himself inside, and the door sealed shut behind him.