Together we headed toward the bridge. I nodded to the chartsman who watched with narrow eyes as we passed by. He would be a navigator in the Air Corp. but on the Heart’s Desire he was part cartographer, part orienteer, but mostly he was surly. From the bow of the ship, the boatswain stood near the hand-crank that powered the forward lights and gave us a curious two fingered salute.

Three whistles blew in quick succession from our ship, announcing our intent to depart. Two long, deep, toots signalled in reply. The mournful sounds reminded me of the foghorns outside my uncle’s coastal house, warning sea-going steamers away from the rocks on treacherous nights, and made me reflective. Which were we doing? Heading away from danger? Or toward it?

There was a slight rising sensation, that ground hogs complained was nauseating, as we lost contact with the ground.

“Cast off!” Firus hollared. “Magnet-anchors a-weigh!”

Repeated shouts of ‘casting off’ and ‘anchors a-weigh’ were echoed down the line.

We were off!