Steemjammer: Through the Verltgaat (21 page)

“Thousands?” Angelica interrupted, shocked. “Why?”

“Let her finish,” Will whispered.

“‘The family’s main business focused on making mills,’” Giselle continued. “This included waterwheels and all the machinery they powered. Besides grinding grain into flour, these could turn saws, crush ore, pump water, or pound wood into pulp for paper.’”

“You’d make a great tour guide,” Angelica teased.

“I could make you do the reading.”

Something in the other room caught Will’s attention. “I’ll be right back. Stay here, and keep it quiet.”

He went back to the dioramas in the wide hallway and strolled along, straining his ear. Had he really heard Bram laughing? A blackened iron boiler caught his eye. Had this, he wondered, powered the early steam engines Gerardus had made? As he looked for a plaque, a snide voice chilled him to his core.

“Well, well. If it isn’t another Steem-failure.”

Will froze. Trying not to panic, he pushed his brain to see if there was any way to get out of this. No, he realized, he’d been careless and allowed himself to become so caught up in the exhibit that he’d forgotten the real danger. Now he’d been spotted, because there was no question of the person behind that voice: Bram Rasmussen.

Chapter
20

the hemel steen

“Pathetic,” Bram said coldly. “Look at him standing there, hoping that somehow nothing will happen to him.”

Still frozen in place, Will closed his eyes, but after a moment, he managed to calm himself and realize that something was amiss. Bram’s voice didn’t sound like it was directed at him.

“Bet they hang him with a rope,” said another voice, one he didn’t recognize.

“Or burn him alive,” added another.

Will turned his head and realized that the sounds were coming through an open doorway right next to him. Maybe, he told himself, he hadn’t been seen. This was a Steemjammer area, so perhaps Bram had said “Steem-failure” referring to some exhibit, instead.

He pressed his back to the wall and, gathering his nerve, inched to the doorway to peer inside a small, dark room. Bram and his companions, a tall girl and three boys his age, examined a diorama of the old Black Forest mill that was exactly like the one in the other room, except this one was on
fire
.

At first Will feared they’d actually set the thing ablaze. He almost ran off to get help but he realized the model was encased in glass and was supposed to be burning. In this diorama, the mill had controlled flames coming out of the fireproofed model.

He saw little soldier figurines going here and there, chasing livestock and setting fires. Why, he wondered, was an army attacking the old mill? Were these wars really so horrible? His eyes were drawn to an elderly man who’d been injured and seemed to beg for his life. That, he guessed, was what Bram had been so cruelly talking about.

“Nothing here,” said one of the other boys.

“You got that right,” Bram agreed. “Nothing but one failure after the next. Look at them, running away to hide.” He cackled. “That’s how it was at Beverkenfort, when we converted it into
Rasmussenfort
. Let’s see if Lockwood’s done any good.”

Something about those words chilled Will to his core. Bram hadn’t been there, had he? No, he realized, the young Raz was just talking tough. Steemjammers had fought bravely and only escaped because they had to, but did the Rasmussens really have the audacity to think they could rename it after themselves?

He had to keep his head, he warned himself, and not get emotional. As they filed through a doorway on the other side of the small room, he cautiously followed. For a moment, the model distracted him. A tiny mechanical boy his age came out the burning mill’s back door, looked around, and then led a group of women and children to safety in the woods.

Just like Beverkenfort, he thought grimly. Moving up, he looked through a doorway into another display room. To his surprise, this one featured life-sized mannequins behind a sheet of glass. One was Isaac Newton, who sat with Gerardus Steemjammer in a primitive lab, studying mineral samples. Plaques explained that the “Great Alchemist” had come to visit B’verlt and help classify new elements, though he seemed convinced the entire thing was a dream and later asked to return to Old Earth.

As the mechanical Gerardus removed a piece of Moderacium, allowing a chip of Incendium to glow, Newton almost fell off his chair in shock. It was then that Will noticed Bram and his cronies, who’d gathered around the bodyguard, Lockwood. He knelt at the side of the display, busy at something. Daring to move closer, Will saw that he had slender tools inside a small keyhole in the wall.

“Anything?” Bram said.

“This is a tricky one,” Lockwood said. “Isn’t anyone keeping a lookout? This would be hard to explain, Master Bram, if someone was to walk in on me like this.”

“Hurry, because if anything is hidden in plain sight, it’s this.”

Will was already backing into shadows to hide. A couple of Bram’s friends came to the doorway, but when excited conversation resumed, they went back to see, giving Will a chance to step forward and watch.

“Careful,” Lockwood warned.

For a moment, Will thought he’d been seen, but the big man was cautioning Bram, who now stood inside the encased display. It seemed the bodyguard had picked a lock, opening a hatch that allowed access in and out, and all eyes were on the young Rasmussen as he slowly prowled.

“Those idiots,” Bram said in a muffled voice as he held his hand near the Incendium. “This is real. It could ‘accidentally’ get flicked on the floor and burn the whole place to the ground!”

“Don’t,” Lockwood urged.

“I know, I know.”

Bram went over to a table where a host of other objects sat, ready for Newton’s inspection. There were various metal ingots, crystals, and a rather plain looking black rock. To Will’s surprise, that was what Bram took.

“This,” Bram said, “could change everything.”

From his pocket he produced a case that held several thin vials. Opening one, he poured drops of a clear liquid onto the rock, which foamed. Not satisfied, he added drops from another vial, and a thick, brown vapor came off the rock. Bram’s face soured.

“Are you sure,” Lockwood asked, “that’s the right one? What about the fancy crystals?”

“No,” Bram said, pointing to a label where the rock had been, “it says ‘hemel steen’ or sky stone.”

“But it’s gray, and the sky’s blue.”

“This is from Old Earth.”

“Where the sky isn’t blue?”

The young Rasmussen scowled. “At night, it isn’t. The thing we need came from the sky on Old Earth, according to the traitor.”

“They’ve got a big crack, too, then?”

“Something like that. Father told me to check anything related to a sky stone or a thing they call a ‘meteorite,’ whatever that is.” He sighed. “Another dead end. This one’s a fake.”

He cocked his arm to hurl the rock at the glass but instead returned it to the table. Scurrying through the hatch, Lockwood shut it behind him.

“I don’t get it,” one of the boys said.

“You’re not supposed to,” Bram snapped. “It’s so well hidden that Hendrelmus himself can’t find it.”

On hearing that, Will’s heart skipped a beat.

“I’ve seen the old Steem-failure himself,” Bram continued, “crawling through piles of junk, searching.”

“I take it,” Lockwood muttered, “that’s our fate. Back to scroungin’ through dusty old junk rooms.”

Will had been so intent on tracking their conversation that he hadn’t realized Bram and the others were heading right for him. He darted under the table that held the diorama of the burning mill, but it would be too easy for them to spot him.

“Bram,” one of them called. “It’s still foaming!”

They turned back to look, giving Will a chance to scurry through the opposite door into a large exhibit hall.

“That stupid rock?” Bram said. “It’ll stop soon enough. Come on.”

Hearing footsteps, Will realized they’d be upon him in moments, that he had no time to reach the doorway on the other side. If they saw him running, they’d know he’d been spying on them. Unable to think of anything else, he rolled under a bench, curled up, and closed his eyes.

Footsteps shuffled past, and for a moment he thought he might remain unseen. He forced himself to remain still.

“Hoy,” a nasty voice called. “Would you look at this?”

***

Something poked Will hard in the back. He guessed one of them was prodding him with a foot.

“What’s this?” Bram said nastily as Will opened his eyes and turned to look. “Sleeping on the job? Oh, I can just imagine what that dog-sized, dress-wearing little man would do if he saw this. His head would turn three shades of red and pop, just like a badly seamed boiler!”

The others cackled harshly. Will got to his feet and brushed dust off his clothes.

“Well, well,” Bram said with amusement, “it’s Will
Steemjammer
.”

They laughed harshly. Dressed in expensive dark clothing, none seemed particularly friendly, and two of the boys glared with open hostility.

A tall, exotic looking girl with shoulder-length bone-white hair and a jet-black forelock stepped forward. Her eyes, so pale a blue that they were almost white, studied Will intensely, making him feel like a bug under a microscope. She would have been pretty, he thought, if it weren’t for her wide, unpleasant smile that showed way too many teeth.

“A Steemjammer?” she scoffed. “Him? He’s not ugly enough.”

They laughed. Frightened, Will found he was too nervous to think straight. He wondered where Angelica and the others were and hoped they would stay out of sight. Bram seemed annoyed by his lack of a response.

“You know,” Bram said. “The big joke?”

Will tried not to show his relief. “Oh, still talking about that? I guess you thought it was funnier than I did.”

“He’s got some brass, doesn’t he?” the tall girl said unpleasantly. “Or at least he thinks he does.”

“Brass?”

“Smells like sleeb to me,” said a chubby boy with a large face and a startling green tint to his skin.

Sleeb? Will had no idea what that meant, but it couldn’t have been good. He tried not to stare at the green boy but couldn’t help himself. Was he ill, he wondered, or did his skin come from a change to his ancestors upon moving here?

“What’re you looking at?” the boy challenged.

“At your fat green face!” Bram sneered, and the others snorted nastily. “Honestly, Otis, would you stop trying to be pathetic?”

Otis stepped back, shamed. The red flush in his green cheeks turned them dark brown.

“Look at the rags he wears,” another boy sniggered at Will, “and those worn out shoes. Did Mommy make them for you? Don’t have a spare penny for decent threads?”

That earned some scoffing chuckles.

“What is that accent?” the tall girl said critically, narrowing her eyes and stepping closer.

“What accent?” Will said.

“
Yours
. It’s very strange.”

“It’s how people talk, you know, in Ohio.”

Cringing inwardly, he tried to stay calm. Why had he said that? Would he find himself unable to lie, even though he had to? Would he mess up everything?

“Where would that be?” Otis demanded.

“Obviously,” the girl quipped, “a pigsty where no one has money for proper clothing.”

“Zylph, where are your manners?” Bram interrupted, laughing and only pretending to be polite. “This is Stevens, Will Stevens.”

“Hi,” Will said with a weak smile.

He was too flustered to even think about correcting Bram. As he held out his right hand, his whole body felt clenched from inner turmoil. Could they tell?

“Zylphia Rasmussen,” she said, sneering at his hand like it was a dead fish. “I’m his cousin. Call me Zylph.”

“He’s got sisters,” Bram added.

Will was relieved. If Bram had really suspected them of being Steemjammers, he might have said one was a cousin, instead.

“The little one’s so tiny,” Bram added, “her hair’s taller than she is!”

They had a mean laugh, while Will tried to invent a plan. None of the other boys had forelocks, he noticed. He wondered if they were just friends or too distantly related to have the hair feature.

He felt intimidated. Two boys had moved behind him, cutting off his ability to escape, and the adult bodyguard hovered nearby, sharp-eyed and ready to pounce.

Bram narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “You were here, sleeping all this time, and we didn’t see you?”

“I wasn’t sleeping,” he said truthfully.

“Sure. Save it for Ugly-vee.”

This time their harsh cackles seemed forced, and it took Will a moment to realize it was a play on Ogilvy.

“You look awful,” Bram continued.

“I’ve been feeling ill lately,” Will admitted, and like before, he felt relieved to speak the truth.

Bram came close enough to sniff his breath. “You’re not sick. It’s a toxin. You probably drank canal water where something nasty had been dumped. Better drink some Noftalekt Juice.”

“I think it’d be funny if he flopped over dead,” one of the boys said.

“I think he’s hiding something,” Bram said, his eyes narrowing into suspicious slits as he got right in Will’s face. “What is it? What’s your big secret, Stevens?”

Will shrugged, urging himself not to panic while wishing he could think of some way to escape.

“This is a large building,” Bram said darkly, “without any people around. Maybe with the right
persuasion
, we could get that tongue moving.”

Will felt strong hands clasp his shoulders. He flinched but tried not to show any fear. His father’d taught him how to fight with his fists, and if it came to that, he’d do his best.

“Let him go,” came a voice, “or I’ll pull this.”

They spun and saw that Giselle had entered and stood by a wall with her hand on a red lever marked “FIRE ALARM.” She had a determined scowl on her face, but Will worried that now she’d been dragged into this mess, too.