Steemjammer: Through the Verltgaat (17 page)

“So what?” he said. “If they grab me and try to force you into a bad deal, like Marteenus is doing with Onkel Deet, just ignore them.”

Something about his voice caught her off guard, and she studied him before proceeding. “Wilhelmus, you’ve opened a verltgaat, but you also have much to learn. If the Rasmussens were to capture you, it would give them the victory they were denied at Beverkenfort. It would mean the end.”

“Why?”

“Because they have all they need to master our technology except one thing. They have our stronghold and its libraries and contraptions. They’ve bribed or captured knowledgeable people and made them explain it. They’ve learned things about world holes and the aether, or so your father fears, that we never discerned.

“They’ve even rebuilt a verltgaat machine from the pieces of the ones we ruined, and I have no doubt it would work, if they had the final thing they needed. And that, my dear nephew, is right in here.”

She pointed a finger and touched his forehead.

“Only now have they begun to realize,” she continued, “why they’ve failed, year after year, to open a world hole. They need a Steemjammer.”

The kids stared at her, dumbstruck, and thought back to what Cobee’d been saying about their name.

“Is that really true?” Giselle asked. “Why?”

“There’s something about our minds,” Tante Stefana explained, “that lets us see how to access the Tracium and its strange properties when no one else can. The closer one of us is to the main bloodline, the higher his or her skill, in most cases. Now do you understand?”

“No,” Will said with frustration. “I’d never show them how to do it.
Never
!”

“So you think.” Her tone became dark and almost threatening. “As goot as we are with matters of steem and world holes, the Rasmussens are equally skilled with poisons. Their chemicals can do far more than kill. Some eat into the mind and erode away self-control - even ones connection to reality.

“If you fell under their power, it would just be a matter of time. No matter how strong you think you are, you’d break down and become their slave, trapped by poison and held prisoner in cloud of delusion, unaware that you opened verltgaats when and where they wanted. That, Wilhelmus, as plainly as I can state it, is why your parents hid you from this place, and it’s why you must go back.”

As the full meaning of her words hit him, he had a terrible sinking feeling.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “but we can’t go back.”

“What?”

He told her how he hadn’t set the timer correctly and feared they were now stuck in Beverkenverlt. Stefana closed her eyes in deep concentration.

“Explain the timer board,” she said with urgency. “What setting did you use?”

He described how he’d set it to one “UU” or hour, adding that they were hoping she could figure out what had gone wrong if he drew a picture of the settings. She handed him a pencil and notepad, which she carried in a pocket in her skirt, and he started sketching.

“I should not be seen talking with you,” she said, glancing around anxiously. “People mustn’t suspect we’re connected in any way. You’ve already been seen in the lobby and by Bram. If we try to hide you, I fear it would be worse. Then, they’d know something was up.

“If they suspect you, they could find out where Cobee lives and capture you. Even if we got you out in time, they would be curious about Tante Klazee’s house and occupy it. If they were to see the verltgaat open, they would get into Beverkenhaas.”

She took a deep breath and exhaled it through her nostrils.

“This leaves us little choice,” she decided. “You must act like normal volunteers and ‘hide in plain sight.’”

Angelica gasped but had no chance to explain what that phrase meant to them, because Tante Stefana continued.

“We have to hope that Bram believes you were joking,” she said, “that you’re only normal kinter.”
Kids
. “When you run into him, see if he remembers your names. If he doesn’t, change them, but not too far from what he heard. Will, you must be Gil. That’s short for Gilbert. Angelica, become Anne, and Giselle, say your name is Belle.

“You must do this. I know it’s hard for you to lie, but as these names are so close to your own, you must think of them as honest nicknames.”

“But why can’t I lie, Tante Stefana?” Angelica asked. “It’s impossible.”

“Why does your hair stick up?” she said. “It’s because you’re a Steemjammer.”

Angelica blinked. “We can’t lie?”

“It’s very hard for us to tell direct lies. I can tell you that you need to lie, because it’s the truth. But like you, it would be very difficult for me to actually do so, to say a direct falsehood myself.

“Somehow, you must not admit your real name. Stay as close to the truth as possible, or say nothing at all and hope for the best.

“If Bram suspects you’re really Henry and Deet’s children, it’s already too late. The Museum will be full of Rasmussen agents. I’ll have people I trust watch over you, and we’ll try to get you out in time – if these fears prove true.

“I would have been signaled if Bram were acting strangely, so there’s hope that your mistakes will go unnoticed. Still, we have to get you out of Beverkenverlt as quickly as possible. You should never have come here.”

“But Tante Stefana,” Angelica said, “why are you so worried? He’s only a kid.”

“No, he’s not,” she replied sternly. “Bram is the son of Zander Rasmussen, the leader of their family, and the man who forced us out of our ancestral home. Young Bram’s extremely cunning and very dangerous.”

Somber looks crossed their faces. Seeing that Will had finished his drawing of the panel, she took it.

“I can’t recall offhand,” she said, pressing her glasses up to the bridge of her nose and studying the notepad. “Let’s hope it will come to me. Help out here and there, and make sure you’re seen. Stay low key, like everything’s
normal
. Our only hope lies in keeping them from discovering who you are.”

***

Explaining that lunch would start soon and they needed to be early to avoid the lines, Cobee talked the others into heading for the commissary. There was something about Steemball, too, but Will was too bothered by a gnawing pain in his gut to pay attention. Why had he let everyone down by rushing and somehow messing up that timer? Now they were stuck and in grave danger!

Even worse, the boy who’d mentioned “hidden in plain sight” was Bram Rasmussen, the son of their leader. Will wondered how he’d known something from his father’s journal. Also, why was someone so dangerous even allowed in the Steem Museum? Tante Stefana had made him nervous, so he’d forgotten to bring these things up.

Turning, he went back down the hall to see if he could locate her, but she was gone. When he trotted to catch up with the others, he found the hallway empty.

“Cobee?” Will called.

He’d only gone a short distance back, and he didn’t see how he could have lost them.

“Hey!” he shouted.

Thinking he heard them, he ran and found himself at a four-way intersection.

“Giselle?” he called. “Angie-bee?”

Again he thought he heard them, so he ran that way, hoping to catch up. As he neared a door, he realized to his alarm that the noises he’d thought were footsteps were really the sounds of combat.

Feet shifting this way and that were followed by the muffled thuds of a metal weapon contacting something. Fearing they were under attack, he jerked open the door and froze with fright.

“Shadovecht!” he cried.

Chapter
16

a harrowing fracas

HISS! A humanoid shape made of bronze and steel shot forward. CLANG! SWISH! A metal arm swung a club menacingly through the air, and a lifeless metal face glared. Shocked, Will held up an arm defensively. Another moment, he knew, and it would crush him.

“Boy!” a voice shouted angrily with a haughty English accent. “Get back!”

Will stepped away, scared, but it wasn’t like the mind-consuming terror he’d felt from the Shadovecht in Beverkenhaas. This was natural fear.

The metal man remained frozen in place, leaking streams of thin vapor from its joints. The brass eyes stared forward lifelessly, and the metal face seemed too pleasant. Covered with patches and dents, this clearly wasn’t one of the monsters that had attacked earlier.

Then
, his mind reeled,
what is it
?

“I said get out of my way!” the man shouted.

Will spun and, to his surprise, found the seething human face that glared down even more frightening than his memory of a Shadovecht. Tall and athletic, wearing a padded suit, the man towered over him. His cheeks were dotted with crater-like pockmarks, a white dueling scar ran from his jaw to his left ear, and he gripped a cruel-looking steel saber.

His brown hair was just starting to turn gray at the temples, and he had a tiny, yellow-white forelock – much smaller than Bram’s – which he waxed so that it would curve up prominently, like a little horn. Will figured this meant he was a Rasmussen, but the thing that made him cringe was that the man
had no nose
.

On second glance, he did have a slight bump of a nasal ridge, but it was so severely upturned that his face appeared skeletal and terrifying. The wide nostrils looked like a pair of hideous black caverns, and though he didn’t want to, Will could look deep inside them.

The memory of an old horror movie poster he’d seen in a shop in Ohio came to him:
The Phantom of the Opera
. He tried to act like nothing was out of the ordinary, hoping the man would relax.

“I beg your pardon,” Will said, stepping back.

“What were you prattling about?” he demanded.

“Shadovecht? Oh, it looks like one.” He realized he stood in a changing room, where people got into steam-powered fighting suits, and he guessed what the robot was for. “The practice dummy does.”

A harsh laugh came from the man, and he kicked the practice dummy in the side, making it hiss.

“You must have seen the newspaper drawings,” he derided. “You actually think this pile of scrap could stand up to a real Shadovecht?”

“Nose sir.”

Will cringed. How could he have been so stupid? He’d blurted out “Nose sir!” Surely the man would blow his stack. What if he slashed with his sword?

“It wouldn’t last a second,” the man said flatly, like nothing had happened. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

Will was stunned. Had the phrase “nose sir” been so close to “no sir” that the man simply hadn’t heard it? Apparently so.

“I’m a volunteer,” he said, thinking fast and lifting the badge on his lapel. “I’m supposed to help.”

“Help? Does anyone here realize I’m scheduled for a duel?” Before Will could attempt to respond, the man continued. “What I need is a functioning steemsuit and not that piece of perforated slag!”

He stabbed in the direction of a bulky, armored fighting suit that hung from the wall. A high pressure hose reinforced with jointed metal ran from a pipe in the wall to a tank on the contraption’s back, and Will instantly recognized it.

This was just like the old suit his dad kept in the barn. Steam power from the hose moved heavy pistons that worked as artificial muscles on the arms, legs and body. These not only helped the person inside move around surprisingly fast, but with skill a user could lift a great deal of weight.

“Sorry for the delay, Mr. Harrow,” a strained voice called from another doorway.

A man and woman in Steem Museum overalls pushed a heavy cart that held a steemsuit much like the one in Will’s barn in Ohio, save this one was shiny and new. Hoisting it onto a hook, they screwed on a reinforced steam hose from a wall socket.

“It’s about time,” the tall man said sullenly.

“Mr. Harrow?” Will thought, wondering if perhaps he wasn’t a Rasmussen after all. Then, he noticed a pair of hulking bodyguards in the hallway, and he figured the man had to be from that family.

“What’s taking so long?” called a muffled voice from another doorway. “Scared to face me, eh, Clyve?”

This opening led to a large arena with a high ceiling that was brightly lit by skylights, where a man in an armored steemsuit stood. The suit had a metal faceplate with narrow eye slits like a medieval knight’s helmet. The man spoke into a curved mouthpiece that allowed his distorted voice to go through the helmet.

“Your idiotic equipment rules are what’s stealing the time, Zeepvat,” Clyve Harrow growled.

“Rules?” the other fighter quipped. “Not that you Rasmussens seem to pay them any heed.”

Because the helmet completely hid his face, Will had no idea what this Zeepvat, if that really was his name, looked like. Didn’t Zeepvat mean soap barrel?

“You’ll pay doubly for that remark,” Clyve growled, his voice converting to the same weird quality as the workers put on his helmet.

“Steem on,” the woman shouted.

The hose jerked, and Clyve’s suit hissed to life. Steam-powered, piston-like contraptions and gears on the arms and legs allowed for awkward movement but great strength. Clyve stomped back and forth, getting a feel for it, and then picked up a two-handed war hammer.

“Will that do, sir?” the male worker asked.

Clyve hoisted the heavy weapon, which had to weigh at least forty pounds, like it was made of papier-mâché. With a mighty swing, he bashed the head off the practice dummy, sending it clattering into a corner. A geyser of vapor spewed out of its open neck.

“Junk, but I’ll make it work,” Clyve growled, stomping heavily into the arena.

***

“What are they doing?” Will asked.

He’d followed the workers and bodyguards to a seating area in the arena, which was a large, wooden floored fighting space.

“Dueling,” the female worker answered grimly. “Apparently Elrik Zeepvat insulted Rasmussen honor.”

“But that man’s last name is Harrow,” Will said, confused.

“You didn’t see his white forelock?” the male worker whispered. “He’s one of them, all right, because of his mother. In charge of Texel, they say.”

“Texel?” Will thought, but events on the floor prevented him from asking more.

“Where’s the referee?” Zeepvat’s distorted voice demanded. “We must go over the rules.”

“Rules?” Clyve bellowed. “I’ve had enough of your mindless claptrap!
En garde
!”

Bending forward, Clyve charged and swung a mighty blow with the heavy hammer. Zeepvat, who hadn’t even chosen a weapon, tried to dodge but failed. The weapon slammed into his shoulder plate and sent him stumbling backwards.

Will heard a scream of horror, but it hadn’t come from the people around him. Something about the combat had jarred loose an old memory. In his mind a scene of chaos played as terrified people ran past, shouting, while an enormous Shadovecht stomped into view and bore down on him. As it closed, a bone-quivering fright took hold of him, and he couldn’t move.

At the last moment, a man in an armored suit crashed into the Shadovecht from the side, sending it sprawling. He chopped at it fiercely with an enormous two-handed sword while screaming at Will to run.

Something grabbed Will and lifted him into the air, and he saw that it was his mother. This was only a memory, he knew, one he’d apparently buried for many years, but the reality of it, like experiencing a waking dream, startled him.

The last thing he recalled was the man in the fighting suit, taking on a charging Shadovecht. The mighty sword flashed down, slicing deep into the monster’s chest and releasing a gush of horrid fluid. The noise of the present conflict brought him back to the Steem Museum’s arena, and the memory ended.

“Afzetterr!” Zeepvat squeaked while struggling not to fall over.
Cheater!

Recovering his balance, Zeepvat snatched a heavy mace off a weapon rack, but Clyve’s next blow easily swatted it away. His next swipe sent Zeepvat sprawling across the floor, and Clyve closed in, raising the hammer in preparation for a massive blow.

“
En garde
!” someone cried. “You started before he was ready!”

Another man in a steemsuit charged through an open doorway to Zeepvat’s rescue, swinging a blunted ax. Without looking, Clyve dodged it and went nimbly to the side. He easily parried the man’s next two swings and caught him in the faceplate with his hammer.

The blow jammed his visor in a way that made him unable to see. Clyve circled, like a cat playing with a captured mouse. The frightened man slashed blindly this way and that, missing badly. Will could imagine the cruel smirk on Clyve’s face.

Clyve hit him in the back with a powerful strike. In a cloud of vapor, his steam connection was ruptured, and he could no longer move.

Zeepvat, back on his feet, landed a hard blow off Clyve’s shoulder plate. Spinning as if nothing had happened, Clyve slammed his war hammer into Zeepvat’s chest, denting the armor and driving him back into the wall. Clyve pursued mercilessly, and Zeepvat’s chest plate came loose. Realizing he had no chance, that his body was exposed, he held up his hand.

“Oevergave!” he shouted.
I surrender!

“What was that?” Clyve said. “I didn’t quite hear you, Zeepvat.”

Will flinched as Clyve drew back the hammer and prepared to launch a powerful, finishing blow.

The hoses suddenly drooped, and their suits lost steam and sagged. Zeepvat collapsed to the floor in a heap of broken armor. Clyve dropped the heavy hammer and stood there motionless, imprisoned in his paralyzed suit.

“What’s the meaning of this!” he raged in a distorted shout. “Who dares interfere in a matter of honor?”

“Honor?” a bemused yet firm voice with a mild English accent came from above. “I see none in attacking a defenseless man who’s yielded.”

Up high, Will noticed an open window marked “Judge’s Box.” A man in a dark bowler hat peered down. He had sparkling blue eyes, high cheekbones, spectacles, a neatly trimmed moustache waxed up at the corners, and a finely chiseled nose.

“Axworthy!” Clyve bellowed. “You have no authority over this duel. Let the steam flow.”

“I was asked to preside over this
brawl
, so I have every right,” the man above, Axworthy, said with finality.

“They cheated. Two against one. Clearly I’m the victor.”

“I acted as Zeepvat’s second,” a voice groaned from a crumpled steemsuit on the floor.

“I’m not sure anyone wins,” Axworthy stated, “when rules are so flagrantly disrespected, but it’s clear who has lost by disqualification. The non-loser may leave.”

HISS. Steam returned to Zeepvat’s ruptured suit. Leaking vapor, he struggled to his feet.

“Thank you, sir,” he said to Axworthy.

He picked up the mace and faced Clyve Harrow, who remained unable to move or defend himself.

“I could ring your bell and then some,” Zeepvat said grimly.

The bodyguards, who’d been watching from the seats, got up and moved in threateningly, but there was little they could do against an armored man.

“But I won’t,” he continued. “We Zeepvats have honor. We don’t cheat.”

With a sneer, he put the mace back on the rack and stomped to his changing room. He was followed by the man who’d attempted to help him.

“Axworthy,” Clyve bellowed. “If I had a suit under my own power ….”

The man above seemed amused. “You’d what? Do go on. I’d really like to know.”

No response came from the motionless steemsuit.

“I thought as much,” Axworthy said. “If you think we’ll tolerate this sort of behavior, Clyve Harrow, just because you’re a ranking member of your family, I advise you to reconsider. Good day, sir.”

The window shut, and as Axworthy left, Clyve shouted. Whatever he said, it was so loud that his diaphragm distorted it too radically to be understood.

“What are you doing here?” a panicked voice whispered in Will’s ear.

It was Cobee, who’d come up behind him.

“Come on,” he urged. “Vershneelen!”
Hurry
!

As they darted away, Clyve’s steemsuit came back to life. He must have picked up and thrown something very heavy, Will thought, because the smashing sound was incredibly loud. What, he wondered, was another Rasmussen doing in the Steem Museum, and how had he been allowed to come so close to killing a man?