Steemjammer: Through the Verltgaat

by John Eubank

  Relieved from their heavy mood, the kids had to laugh.

  “Just like home,” Angelica said.

  “Just like my home,” Giselle countered. “These are healthy and happy.”

  Cobee angled his head with puzzlement at their laughter. “Why was that funny?”

  “Oh, Giselle doesn’t like our clocks,” Angelica teased, “and she especially hates our door gong.”

  “Why?”

  “Please, I’d rather forget that,” Giselle said.

  “No, tell me. Why would you hate a door gong?”

  Will, who’d been asking a lot of questions, was glad to be able to answer one. “It makes a Shadovecht face pop out and scare people.”

  “What? But why?”

  “I think it was to keep away the curious.”

  Alfonz, who’d gone upstairs to keep a watch for the verltgaat, called down the steps. “Almost finished, the hour is. Here we were coming just after nine, so time for the verltgaat, neh? Come!”

  ***

  In the bathroom they found Alfonz pacing nervously. Careful to stay away from the spot it would appear, they waited. Several minutes went by with nothing happening. No one said a thing, until a good ten minutes had passed.

  “You’re sure about the timer?” Alfonz asked Will.

  “One hour,” he said, “and I know I turned it on.”

  But another five minutes passed with no sign of a verltgaat. Will became flustered. “Maybe we’re mistaken. Maybe the hour hasn’t really passed.”

  He somehow knew, however, that it should have opened. A sinking feeling started in his gut and spread. Something was wrong.

  Chapter 13

  new amsterdam

  “Just a little longer,” Staas Floombach hissed to himself an hour earlier.

  A verltgaat had opened again, in the heart of New Amsterdam. His instruments included a device made of black crystals that glowed faintly when verltgaats opened and a series of gauges that helped him triangulate the location on maps. He wondered what those Steemjammers were up to.

  With each few seconds that passed he was able to move the wires on his map closer and closer together, narrowing down the area. Now he knew the location was West New Amsterdam. Another minute, he thought, and he’d have it down to a few blocks.

  “No!” he moaned.

  The pale purple glow went out, the delicate brass gears stopped turning, and the quavering needles in their dented bronze housings flapped down to zero. The verltgaat had been shut off.

  He had no way of knowing, but what he’d just detected was Alfonz and the Steemjammer kids briefly opening the verltgaat so they could go into their Tante Klazee’s house.

  Staas only got a general location. No good, he thought, but he had to report it, anyway. To refrain from doing so was a major offense.

  “Sir?” he said into his speaking tube.

  “What is it, Staas?” replied the unpleasant voice of Clyve Harrow.

  “A verltgaat just opened in New Amsterdam again.”

  “Really?”

  The voice gained an edge that made the hairs on the back of Staas’ neck stand up. “Perhaps you can be useful this time and tell me where in New Amsterdam.”

  “West side of the city, sir,” Staas said, trying not to let his fear show, “south of Ootrekt Park and above the Blue Canal.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “That’s the best you can do?”

  “Sir, they didn’t leave it open very long. Without more accurate detectors-”

  “You have the most advanced detectors we’ve ever made!” the voice reprimanded. “West side? How can we possibly search the entire west side? You must do better.”

  In spite of his fear, anger grew within Staas. Without improved detectors, he simply couldn’t do what they wanted. How could they be so cruel?

  “Yes, sir,” he said meekly, realizing he didn’t dare argue. “I’ll try to get it next time.”

  “See that you do.”

  ***

  A glum pallor settled over Tante Klazee’s house when another twenty minutes had passed, and it became clear that no verltgaat would open. Will blamed himself, but Alfonz reminded him that he’d been rushed. Giselle and Angelica wished they’d stayed behind, even if they hadn’t felt confident about working the controls.

  Alfonz suggested they try to find a verltgaat specialist on this side - or at least someone who understood the controls. That way Will could explain what he’d done, and maybe they’d be able to figure out when or even if it would re-open.

  Klazee shook her head. “I can’t think of anyone.”

  “Why don’t we just find a machine here,” Will asked hopefully, “and open a way back?”

  She looked away, and Alfonz lowered his gaze.

  “The only verltgaat machine still in this place,” Klazee admitted sadly, “is with the Rasmussens.”

  “What?” Giselle said, alarmed. “You mean they can open world holes? They have that kind of power?”

  “No, kint, not yet.”

  “How did they get one?”

  “Your father and grandfather smashed our machines as Beverkenfort fell, but the Rasmussens have rebuilt one from the pieces. So far, thank the Maker, they can’t get it to work. Still, this could change any day.”

  “Tante Klazee, I’m confused,” Angelica said. “Why do we even have enemies? Why would anyone want to kill us?”

  Her great aunt let out a long sigh, and she said, “You really can’t figure it out?”

  Angelica shook her head tersely.

  “Think of what Giselle just said. Power.”

  “Power?”

  “Leef, if you can open a verltgaat on people in the bathtub and rush through with Shadovecht, how could anyone stand up to this?”

  A flash of genuine fear rippled through Will’s body. Earlier, he’d been thinking how exciting it would be to use verltgaats to explore, perhaps both worlds, but the idea of holes opening in peoples’ houses and Shadovecht rushing in left him speechless.

  “They’d take over Beverkenverlt,” Angelica said, getting it at last.

  “It would be too easy,” Klazee said grimly. “Zander would declare himself Emperor or Lord Protector, and anyone foolish enough to resist would be destroyed. Once they secured this place, and it wouldn’t take long, I’m sure their greed and hunger would draw them elsewhere.”

  “They’d attack Old Earth?” Giselle said, aghast.

  “What would stop them? With power like that, their corruption would become complete.”

  “But Tante Klazee,” Angelica said, “why didn’t a Steemjammer become the ruler and stop them?”

  The old lady smiled and patted her cheek. “And become just as wicked? No, kint.” Kid. “Our ancestors were wise. They chose not to take that path, and in so doing saved us all, thank the Maker. We made a bond with the people of B’verlt.”

  “B’verlt? Oh, is that short for Beverkenverlt?”

  “Ya, that thing. Zo, we made a promise we would never use our secrets to impose ourselves on them - that we’d only intervene in the direst emergencies.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Klazee blew a puff of air through pursed lips. “It’s not so easy to explain.”

  Restless, Alfonz shifted back and forth on the balls of his feet. “Aanhooren.” Listen. “Time we’re not having for this, neh? To get back to Old Earth we must, now. Marteenus knows where Beverkenhaas is! What if he’s there going? What if the verltgaat machine he’s finding?”

  The thought filled them with dread. Will also wondered what would happen if a neighbor or one of those county officials stumbled onto their machines. He couldn’t even remember if they’d shut the trap door.

  “Oyteraan,” Klazee said, of course, “we need to get them back, but how?”

  “Do what Alfonz said,” Cobee suggested. “Get Will to someone who knows how the machine works, so they can tell us what happened.”

  “But who? There�
��s no one in this verlt.”

  “Except the one you’re forgetting,” Cobee said. “She might also know about Onkel Henry, and I have to go to the Museum, anyway. I could take them along.”

  “Her?” Klazee said, her eyes flaring open owl-like behind their enormous lenses.

  “She’s the only one who could tell us.”

  “I know, but she’s – I don’t want to say.”

  “Who?” Alfonz demanded.

  “Tante Stefana,” Cobee stated.

  His face turned ashen. “Verdoor.”

  “Who is this?” Will said.

  Alfonz looked away, not wanting to answer. Klazee fumbled for words but couldn’t find any.

  “Your fathers’ sister, Stefana,” Cobee explained. “She, um ….”

  He couldn’t finish.

  Will was flabbergasted. “My father has a sister?”

  “Why does mentioning her name make you react this way?” Giselle added.

  Complex and conflicting emotions played across Klazee’s face, and at last she blurted, “She married a Rasmussen.”

  ***

  “Stay with me,” Cobee said in a hushed tone as he led them down the cobblestone sidewalk.

  Klazee had only let them go after they’d convinced her that the Rasmussens would have no reason to suspect them, at least by sight. She’d wanted to go along, but Alfonz urged her to stay. There was still a chance, however slim, that the world hole might suddenly open. He feared his vaanderloos might force him to leave the house and walk around, and since he had no training with verltgaats, he didn’t know if he could make it work, anyway.

  Since Klazee had operated the machines in her youth, she realized he was right, that she had to stay, but she wasn’t about to let them go without a stern warning, first. Then, just like any other group of New Amsterdam kinter, they’d headed out the door, trying to look as relaxed and normal as possible.

  “Don’t stare,” Cobee hissed after an incredibly thin lady walking a grotesquely fat blue dog had passed by.

  It was hard not to gawk. They were finally in New Amsterdam, out in the open and able to see everything. With no electric wires or traffic lights, the place was very different from Ohio. Will felt like they’d stepped into a painting of an Old Earth European city from the 1800s, except far more exotic.

  Some houses were made of bright orange bricks with royal blue tiles that glistened in the morning sun. Others used half-timber construction painted in dazzling colors, like Klazee’s, while a few structures were so striking that Will wondered how they held themselves up.

  An apartment building seemed to ripple and flow like an outlandish drip castle one might find at the beach, while other structures, as Cobee explained, used optical illusions to appear to defy gravity. One resembled an undersea grotto, and then they saw a dwelling that looked like an enormous, realistic turtle.

  As Will wondered where they’d hidden the door, steam huffed from the building’s joints. Large gears spun, a flap of shell lowered, and internal machinery cranked out the turtle’s head and neck. While its eyes looked around, the mouth opened wide, and a tiny lady with fluffy pink hair emerged. Cobee, who was used to all this, had to urge them to keep walking and not stare.

  “Remember, no Dutch,” he warned. “If anyone asks where you’re from, you say?”

  “Bellevue,” Will told him.

  “Which is where?”

  “West of London.”

  Technically this was true, but it was also misleading. Even the thought of saying this caused knots in Will’s gut.

  “New London,” Cobee said. “Be sure to say that.”

  Angelica hoped no one asked her where she was from. She’d been even worse than Will at fibbing or making up stories, even when she’d known she needed to.

  “It won’t work,” Will said. “We don’t even know what this New London looks like.”

  Cobee shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. Say you went through at night on the train and were asleep.”

  “Tante Klazee told us not to make up such stories,” Giselle reminded. “She said if we act dumb, we’ll be okay.”

  “Ach, we’ll be fine, except for that word. No one says ‘okay’ here, so don’t use it, neh?”

  Will came to a sudden stop, outraged. “What?”

  Pasted on a nearby wall was a large poster filled with black and white pictures. Bold, dark letters printed across the top read: “WANTED: FOR CRIMES AGAINST BEVERKENVERLT!” The first photo, though taken when he was much younger, clearly showed his father. His name, “Hendrelmus Steemjammer,” was printed below it.

  “Keep moving,” Cobee hissed.

  They didn’t. Giselle and Angelica stared in shock.

  “Why’s my name there?” Angelica asked. “They don’t have our pictures, but they have our names. There’s Will, and there’s Giselle.”

  “I’m tearing it down,” Will growled.

  “No,” Cobee insisted, grabbing his arm. “Move on. Now, before we draw any more attention to ourselves. Remember your promise.”

  Before leaving the house, they’d promised Tante Klazee that they’d do what Cobee said. Reluctantly, they left the poster untouched and followed Cobee down the street.

  “If we tear it down,” he explained quietly, “Rasmussen agents will investigate. Worse, we might be seen doing it. Don’t worry, someone else will get it taken care of for us. We still have many friends in this city.”

  “But why’s it there at all?” Will asked. “Why doesn’t the government tear it down?”

  “Government?”

  “Yeah. Can’t we take the Rasmussens to court for spreading lies? Crimes? What crimes?”

  “Court? What does tennis have to do with this?”

  They stared at him like he was from another world, until they remembered he was.

  “No,” Giselle explained. “A court with judges and juries. Is there any government at all?”

  Cobee seemed confused. “It’s different. We came here – our ancestors did – to escape all that. I guess there’s no government, not one that you’d recognize.”

  A boy of twelve came around the corner, shouting something in Dutch. He wore a wool cap and had a leather satchel slung over his shoulder filled with newspapers.

  “Steemjammer spies accused of sabotage!” he shouted, switching to English. “Shadovecht strike again, murdering four! Steemjammer involvement suspected!”

  “What?” Will muttered, starting to rush up and confront him.

  “No,” Cobee whispered, stepping nimbly in front of Will and producing a cheerful smile as the newsboy closed. “I’ll take one. English version.”

  Handing over a square copper coin, Cobee took a newspaper called THE TRUTH. The Newsboy went on his way, showing no sign of noticing their peculiar behavior.

  “Now we glance at it,” Cobee whispered, “in case someone’s watching. Just go along with me.”

  He opened the paper to reveal headline stories accusing the Steemjammer family of just what the newsboy had been shouting. A nasty cartoon showed a poorly drawn, gigantic Hendrelmus crushing New Amsterdam using two huge Shadovecht that he controlled like puppets on strings. The artist had given him manic eyes and an evil grin to suggest the character was enjoying the mayhem below.

  “It’s absurd!” Angelica muttered.

  “Careful,” Giselle warned. “Cobee’s right. We mustn’t get upset and draw attention to ourselves.”

  “It’s okay if you look outraged,” Cobee said. “People will think you’re upset over the murders, but don’t tear it up. Now, let’s move on.”

  He folded it and led them up the street.

  “I don’t believe it,” Will hissed. “Us murdering people? What liars! How is this allowed?”

  “How can we stop it?” Cobee said. “Too many Steemjammers left this world. When we lost Beverkenfort, we lost most of our power. Plus, the Rasmussens are rich. They own this newspaper, and they pay off lots of people to help them. Those they don’t bribe, they bully.”<
br />
  “So they control Beverkenverlt?”

  “Not yet. You just never know where they are or who’s working for them.”

  “But no one believes them, right?” Angelica said.

  “We hope not. Hurry. I hear the cable car.”

  As they ran, a thought struck Will: that a cartoon of his father was on a newspaper in the largest city in this world. His dad, the whimsical tinker who absent-mindedly smeared his face with greasy fingers and insisted there was no such thing as cold – after being gone eleven years – still made front page news. What was going on?

  ***

  The sound of a ringing bell broke the late morning air. Wood and brass, double-decked and shaped like a medieval tower, a cable car rolled down trolley tracks in the street and stopped at the corner. Painted to mimic gray stones and crenellated around the top, gold letters ran along the sides reading “De Kasteel Leedink.” The Castle Line.

  Since no one was in the open-air section on top, Will, Angelica, Giselle and Cobee went up a narrow spiral staircase and sat down. With a jerk the cable car continued on its route. In the cool morning breeze they could get a better view of the passing city and, more importantly, talk safely.

  “Dad said money’s bad,” Angelica complained, “but we use money here.”

  Cobee’d handed them copper coins – some square, some round and one triangular - to pay for the ride.

  “I think,” Giselle said, pausing to double-check her idea, “that Uncle Henry didn’t like paper money. I bet these coins are solid copper, which means they have real value. Did you know earth pennies are just cheap pot metal with a thin coating of copper?”

  “Ect neet,” Cobee said. “Don’t people know they’re being cheated?”

  While Giselle attempted to explain Old Earth’s monetary system (she still had the paper bills and coins, which baffled Cobee), Will looked around, amazed and hoping that no one noticed how he gawked. The tram followed a slot in the street where a steel cable snaked along, tugged by a huge steam powered wheel several miles away. To get motion, the operator pulled a lever that clamped the cable, which pulled the cable car along tracks at what felt like ten to fifteen miles per hour.