Free The Cold Beneath by Tonia Brown

would never have signed on had I known you intended to work me like an ox.”
    “Then in the future, I suggest that you read before you sign.”
    And that was that.
    True to his requirements, the machines remained manned almost every hour of the day, some men preferring to pedal deep into the night. I must admit, after a fashion, I grew fond of the activity myself. It was lonesome and distracting, two things I craved more the longer I maintained a proximity to the beautiful Geraldine. But I’m getting ahead of myself again.
    Despite Lightbridge’s military background, he refused to allow the men to bring firearms aboard the Fancy. Some of the men voiced the need for weapons as a concern for safety, sighting possible run-ins with the wild Northern natives while we spent our month at our destination, while others just wanted to bring their weapons to hunt the unusual game that thrived in the Arctic. But Lightbridge was steadfast. His concern that a stray bullet might puncture the balloon was not unfounded. So each man promised by oath to leave his weapons behind, though I noticed Lightbridge didn’t bother to search the luggage as we loaded our things.
    He was trusting of his crew.
    I was not.
    When the day arrived for us to depart, I once again found myself filled with worry. The airship, the entire huge ship, had been built inside of an enclosure. While this wasn’t unusual—seabound vessels are sometimes moored in warehouses for repair—I noticed something striking on the morning of our scheduled departure. Something of which I had failed to take notice for the whole week.
    The greenhouse doors weren’t large enough to accommodate the ship.
    How would we get her out?
    No one else seemed to notice; they loaded the ship right there in the greenhouse as if it were standing free in some open field. I asked several of the workers what the plan was, but each one shrugged me off or directed my questions to Albert or Lightbridge. And considering how many questions I had asked the pair already, I kept my mouth shut for fear of looking as foolish as I felt.
    Of course the solution was simple, and revealed itself upon inspection of the greenhouse itself. What I assumed were leftover clockworks in the corner of the building were instead the mechanisms of a skylight. The entire ceiling folded away with the pull of a crank, which provided the ship just enough clearance to escape.
    The single thing I dreaded more than the bitter cold into which we were throwing ourselves was the publicity sure to be aroused by our venture. With a personality like Lightbridge, I was convinced the place would be swarming with journalists and glory seekers alike, all eager for a piece of the history our crew was destined to create. Yet as it turned out, there was no big send off. No media storm to see us on our way.
    I was relieved, but I must admit I was also a little disappointed.
    The whole affair was simple. As soon as the Fancy was finished, one short week after my arrival, the men packed her tight and prepared to shove off. Or rather up, as it were. Those who worked on the ship became her crew, with Albert shifting from foreman to first mate, losing none of his stride along the way. If anything, he was more unyielding than before, accepting only perfection from his readymade sailors.
    And so the hour arrived, and we were ready to embark upon our life-changing journey. No one, aside from Lightbridge’s household staff, bore witness to our exodus.
    “Why the lack of fuss?” I asked.
    “What do you mean?” Lightbridge asked.
    “Don’t get me wrong, I’m no fan of the media, but I am curious why a man who wants to leave a mark on history refuses to make a bigger deal of it.”
    “The world will hear of our success. And only our success.”
    He wouldn’t say more on the matter. I suppose that is why I feel compelled to relate this story in written form, so that the world will know just what happened. Even as I write this, I wonder if anyone