The Cold Beneath (5 page)
When our meal was complete, I took a last look at my quiet home, dreading the certain hustle and bustle that would come with this latest employment. Aside from the others involved in the expedition, there was bound to be some measure of media attention. After so many years of calculated solitude, I wasn’t sure I was ready for such exposure. My manservant wouldn’t allow me to dwell upon it, as he pulled me by the elbow then pushed me toward the open door. I was only just able to snatch my hat from the rack on the way out.
****
****
The Estate
The trip to Lightbridge’s was uneventful. It took a full morning by carriage, slow travel due to the full payload: the driver, Bradley and myself, along with a pair of matching trunks that held our meager belongings and the smaller but hefty case containing my life’s work. The nags whimpered at the weight, but held up with admirable respect.
Lightbridge surprised me by meeting us at the entrance. I hadn’t expected to lay eyes on him until properly announced, but the man seemed too excited for such formalities. He appeared at the iron gateway that surrounded his luxurious home, waving his arms and shouting greetings. The driver drew his team to a halt, at which Lightbridge leaned in the window to share his salutations.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” he said with a bright smile. He seemed a bit shocked to see Bradley, but his expression relaxed again in an instant. “Welcome to my modest home.”
“Thank you for inviting us,” I said with a nod.
“Sir,” Bradley added, then made a move to exit the carriage. Offering his seat to the gentleman was the proper thing for the manservant to do.
“No, no,” Lightbridge insisted. “Keep your seat; I don’t mind walking.”
Bradley looked to me for advice, at which I shrugged. Far be it from me to spoil the servants, but we were on Lightbridge’s payroll now. He could command Bradley as he wished, within reason of course.
Lightbridge rapped the side of the vehicle, shouting, “Driver! Pull around to the main entrance!”
The driver shouted an affirmative and whistled at the horses, and the carriage lurched into motion again. Lightbridge trotted alongside the carriage all the way down the mile-long drive until we reached the house proper. Lightbridge lost neither step nor breath along the way. As we disembarked from the carriage, Bradley asked after his remarkable endurance.
Lightbridge winked as he smacked a metallic knee. “These little beauties never leave me tired. I could probably run ten miles if the notion took me. Well that, and if the wife would let me. Know what I mean?” He laughed as he nudged my manservant, who smiled at the shared marital joke.
Bradley was a young widower when I hired him, and by contract was not allowed to take another wife. I didn’t mind him keeping a mistress tucked away every now and again, but I forbade his entering into the ritual of courting. The last thing I needed was a houseful of marital bliss or, even worse, children. I never managed to find luck with love, and saw no reason why I should be reminded of such things on a daily basis. Bradley never seemed to mind, though in retrospect I regret keeping him from such happiness. Hindsight again, I suppose.
Lightbridge’s estate was grand, with miles of green rolling hills and colorful meadows bordered by a thick forest. I turned in place, taking in the beauty of it all, jealous on some small level of his success. His ‘modest home’ was more like a mansion, several stories high and three times as wide. Bradley stood before it, neck craned to take it all in, smile plastered across his face. I couldn’t imagine what the American was thinking. Our baggage was gathered by a few servants, with special instructions for my laboratory case to be taken to the greenhouse.
“Greenhouse?” I asked. “I hope you don’t expect much of me there. I’m afraid amateur gardening is the limit of my botanical knowledge.”
“Don’t let the name fool you,” Lightbridge assured me. “It hasn’t served as a proper greenhouse for a number of years. Come, let me show you.” He stalked away, leaving me little choice but to follow.
I motioned for Bradley to join the others in gathering the luggage as I trotted to catch up with the long-legged man. Lightbridge rounded the house, guiding me into the back yard where there waited a greenhouse of preposterous proportions.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said. The thing was almost as large as the main house with huge window panes that must have cost the man a small fortune to install, not to mention clean and maintain. Then again, he may not have wasted much expense on the latter. The windows were so filthy I couldn’t see beyond a single one. “Do you mind if I ask why so large?”
“My wife. Without the distraction of children, she needed something to keep her busy and out of my graying hair. So I built this for her. In our travels, she picked up an affection for exotic plants, some of which become enormous. Banyan trees and the likes. She needed the space, so I gave it to her.”
There was more to the story, something the man was aching to tell me. I could sense it in his words. “And now?”
Lightbridge grinned, a hint of mischievous youth slipping through that feral look. “I needed the space for my project, so I kicked her out.” He made his way toward the greenhouse, once again leaving me and my inferior legs to trail him.
As we drew closer, I saw that the windows along the sides weren’t just dirty, they were blacked out, as if painted over to keep one from seeing what lay beyond. “A greenhouse with no windows. I suppose it’s safe to assume you aren’t growing something inside.”
“Correct. We aren’t growing. We’re building.”
Before I could work out what he meant, Lightbridge flung the greenhouse doors wide, and spilled a cacophony of construction. Hammering, sawing and even the distinct pings of a steam-powered riveter rang through the afternoon air. Lightbridge motioned me inside, closing the doors behind us, once again trapping the loud noises. We stopped before a makeshift curtain, sewn from what looked like old bedclothes, which hung the length of the building from ceiling to floor. The filthy sheets billowed, teasing me with glimpses of what lay beyond. I almost laughed aloud at the sight of the greenhouse windows, which were in fact not only painted black but also covered in everything from old mattresses to bales of hay to layers of newsprint. No wonder I couldn’t hear the construction from the outside. A ring of the uppermost windows was left unobstructed, lighting the place as best it could.
Lightbridge poked his head between the sheets and shouted, “Albert!”
Within a moment, there appeared before us a small, sweaty man. He stood to my chest in height, but what he lacked in size he more than made up for with bulk. The man was a knot of muscles, thick in his shoulders, broad in the chest, and bore a neck the size of my thigh. His head was smooth as a newborn babe’s, yet he sported a wild, wooly beard from ear to ear. He was dressed in a thin shirt, torn short at the sleeves, and a pair of tattered breeches supported by leather braces. The braces doubled as bandoleers, from which hung a variety of tools. I recognized most of the tools as those of a tinker, like myself, though I doubted we shared more than a mechanical background.
The man approached us, narrowing his eyes at me.
“Albertan Josephus!” Lightbridge hollered at me while pointing to the short man.
“Call me Albert!” the man shouted in a gruff yell, thick with Scottish brogue. He took my hand into a monstrous grip, leaving me to wince as he shook it for all it was worth. “Who be you then?”
“Philip Syntax!” I shouted.
Albert turned his head to one side and asked loudly, “Sincat?”
“Syntax!” I tried to correct him.
Lightbridge cupped his hands over his mouth and yelled, “We need to talk! Go give the men a break!”
Albert scrunched up his face in clear disapproval. He fished a pocket watch from the bandoleer and waved the thing at Lightbridge. “No time! Already behind schedule!”
Lightbridge didn’t answer. He merely stared at the shorter fellow, who turned and stomped away, muttering objections under the racket. No sooner had he disappeared beyond the barrier than I heard an earsplitting whistle. The construction noises came to an abrupt halt.
“All right, lads!” Albert shouted from beyond the homemade curtain. “Cap says take a break!”
There followed a great whoop of agreement. Without warning, a bevy of workmen filed out of the greenhouse. Most were equipped in a similar fashion to Albert, covered in tools and gleaming with sweat. Lightbridge held the door for the crowd, grinning like a maniac at his hired crew. A few nodded at me on their way out, but most ignored me or seemed unaware of my presence altogether. Lightbridge pushed the doors closed again. My stomach fell to my knees at the echoing click.
Lightbridge turned to me, still grinning like a monkey and rubbing his hands in excitement. “Like the curtain? I know it seems a bit theatrical, but I caught a journalist hiding in the bushes outside a few weeks ago. I don’t mind sharing my idea, but only when it’s ready.”
“I see,” I said, though I didn’t. The patchwork curtain and homemade acoustical padding made little sense to me. I wondered why a man of rich means would stoop to such improvisations. Certainly, from the looks of his estate and home, he could afford otherwise.
“Speaking of seeing, are you prepared?”
“I suppose I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.” I smiled to assure him of my good humor.
Lightbridge was not amused. “I mean what I ask. You should ready your mind, for this will be unlike anything you have ever seen.” His grave tone chased away my grin.
“Don’t let his dramatics give you a fright,” Albert said, popping his head between the sullied sheets. “Every last one of the lads got the same speech, and we’ve yet to find anything more stupefying than his ridiculous plan.”
“Thank you my good man,” Lightbridge said. “Your loyalty is much appreciated.” He rolled his eyes heavenward as if seeking assistance, then pushed the man aside, and with him, the curtain.
I ducked under his outstretched arm, past the barrier and straight into a dream.
****
****
The Northern Fancy
It had to be a dream, for what lay beyond that curtain was not of the waking world. At first I thought it was a sailing ship, for its resemblance to a maritime vessel was uncanny. But where a nautical craft bore sails and rigging, this ship’s hull was topped by an intricate looping of thick wire framework. The vessel was enormous, taking up almost the full length of the greenhouse end to end. The hull stood at over half the height of the building, with the second level of unfinished framework touching the roof.
The craft wasn’t just a slapdash work of unskilled labor. No. It was exquisite. The ship’s body was as sleek as a Spanish galleon, with scrollwork and carvings that would make a first-class sculptor weep with jealousy. The body was stained deep rosewood in color, while the scrollwork was highlighted in a rich gold paint. From the forefront of the vessel thrust a wooden masthead—a beautiful maiden smiling as she stared into the distance. I was transfixed by her, as if the thing could see into my very soul.
“Say hello to the Northern Fancy,” Lightbridge said.
I couldn’t say much of anything. I was dumbstruck.
“She’s a beauty,” Lightbridge said. “Isn’t she?”
I somehow managed to find my voice at his question. “She certainly is. How did you get her here?” I was still convinced it was a sailing vessel.
“She was built here. Created on this very spot.” He stepped forward, arms spread and voice booming. “I brought in artisans from all across the globe to breathe life into my vision, and here she is. She is lightweight, sturdy. As sound as a pound. We shall travel north in style, my new friend. In style.” Lightbridge came to rest with his palms on the ship, petting the thing as if it were alive.
His words brought our previous conversation to mind. “Your vision? This is how you plan to conquer the Arctic Circle? I thought you said by air.”
Lightbridge turned to me, his wild grin wide again. “So I did.” He dipped his head forward, signaling that I should turn about.
I did so.
Behind me, along the greenhouse wall, there hung a hulking mass of folded cloth. It was as long as the ship, dyed the same rosewood color. I could just make out the same gold scrollwork bunched between folds of the fabric. Letters peeked out here and there, but I couldn’t make out their meaning. The thing didn’t answer my question; it only raised another.
“What on earth is that?” I asked.
“Guess,” Lightbridge said.
I had no idea, and said as much.
“It’s an airbag,” Albert said.
“Spoilsport,” Lightbridge muttered.
“If the lad is anything like me, he doesn’t have the time or the patience for your musings, Gideon.”
“I suppose not.” Lightbridge returned his attention to me and explained. “You see, the bag is strung through the wire framework there above the Fancy’s deck. When inflated, it should fill to fit the rings, helping to lift the entire ship from the ground.”
