Steemjammer: Through the Verltgaat

by John Eubank

  “I asked you a question, Ren-stink,” the white forelocked youth pressed nastily. “What’s the matter? Afraid of the dark, or are you too stupid to answer?”

  A little taller than Will, Bram eyed them critically. Even in the poor light they could tell his clothing wasn’t homespun. It looked expensive and tailor-made, especially the exotic black leather coat. A “YOUTH VOLUNTEER” button was pinned upside down on his lapel, and something about his haughty bearing made Will think of male models he’d seen on glossy magazine covers on Old Earth.

  Like before, it was the streak of bone-white hair at the top of his forehead that really stood out. Will remembered his mother jumping with fright upon seeing a man with a forelock in Bellevue. Settling down, she’d whispered to young Will that he should never trust a person with such hair, but she’d never told him why.

  Reeling from the insult, Cobee growled: “That’s Ren-sink. Cobee Rensink.”

  “Yes, of course,” Bram droned, his aloof tone dripping with sarcasm. “At least now I can remember it: a sink where one rin-ses away the stink.”

  He smirked, trying to provoke Cobee.

  “This is Brat,” Cobee sneered, keeping his cool. “Brat Rasmussen.”

  Will, Angelica and Giselle froze with concern, trying to process what this meant. A Rasmussen, here in the Steem Museum? The haughty youth forced a laugh.

  “‘Brat?’” he mocked. “That’s priceless. Really. Bet you stayed up all night to think of that.” He faced the others and grinned disarmingly. “Bram Rasmussen, at your service.”

  He said this last part to Giselle, smiling at her a little too warmly, hoping it would irritate Cobee. The Steemjammer kids were quite startled, having come upon a Rasmussen so suddenly.

  “Giselle Steemjammer,” she blurted automatically.

  “What?” Bram gasped, caught off guard.

  “Aha!”

  Eyes flaring open, the young Rasmussen took an instinctive step back. Will felt paralyzed.

  “What do you mean by that?” Bram asked her.

  Giselle was horrified by what she’d said, but she recovered quickly, laughing nervously. She realized that if the Steem Museum was somehow controlled by her family, it made no sense for one of the enemy to be here.

  “Well, if you’re a Rasmussen,” she said, “then I must be a Steemjammer,”

  “I’m really Bram Rasmussen,” he insisted.

  “Oh, come on. Don’t be absurd.”

  Lurking in a shadow about ten feet behind Bram, but watching them closely, stood a tall and muscular man with a totally bald, shaved head, black sideburns and beady eyes. He wore a dark gray leather coat with some odd bulges that Will assumed were weapons. He seemed to be Bram’s bodyguard and looked dangerous.

  “The forelock,” Bram said, stepping closer and pointing to the streak of white above his forehead. “Only Rasmussens have these.”

  “You’re not joking?” Giselle said, moving back a little. “Oh, I feel silly then.”

  “She’s Giselle Stevens,” Cobee intervened, “when she isn’t joking around.”

  Bram nodded his head in a slight bow. “Nice to meet you, Giselle Stevens.”

  He pronounced “Stevens” a little too carefully. Did he believe her, Will wondered? Furthermore, how had Cobee been able to mislead him like that?

  “I’m Will,” he said, offering a hand and then, to his horror, adding: “Steemjammer.” A nervous laugh escaped him, and Bram twisted his face in confusion.

  “Hey!” Cobee piped, kicking his shin. “That’s not funny!”

  Out of Bram’s view, Angelica pressed her hands firmly over her mouth.

  “Quite right,” Will said truthfully, shaking Bram’s hand. The boy’s grip felt firm but cold. He wondered why he wasn’t able to say he was a Stevens. All he could add was: “I guess it wasn’t funny at all.”

  “He goes by Will Stevens,” Cobee said, somehow keeping his voice calm, “when he isn’t trying to get himself killed. This is his other his sister, Angelica.”

  Will guessed she was so stunned to come face-to-face with a Rasmussen that she couldn’t think clearly, or she would have tried correcting him. It was technically true that people called them Stevens, but it was also very misleading. He forced his mind to stay calm and focused on the limited truth of the statement. The bodyguard, he had no doubt, could kill them all if ordered to do so.

  “A family of comedians,” Bram said icily, eying their badges and then grinning whimsically. “Youth volunteers, eh? I suppose that sawed-off, haggis-breathed runt has sent you out on some momentous task, perhaps shoveling coal or scrubbing a filthy pipe valve.”

  “Lay off,” Cobee snarled. “Donell’s a great man.”

  “You mean half-man, don’t you?”

  Bram cackled. Cobee balled up his fist and stepped forward, but the large man came up out of the shadows and fixed him with a chilling gaze.

  “Let’s have none o’ that,” he said firmly with a thick English accent.

  Cobee had no choice but to back down, while Bram, who seemed to drink up each moment, turned to Giselle. “Cobee’s angry because he can’t remember his left foot from his right in a Steemsuit. I’ve flattened him four times in a row in the arena.”

  “By cheating!” Cobee growled.

  “It’s called skill, Ren-stink. Not that you’d recognize it.” He made as if to leave, shifting his gaze to Giselle. “It’s been a pleasure.”

  His eyes lingered on her a little too long, which made them all uncomfortable.

  “You, too,” he added, glancing at Will and Angelica.

  Will almost chose to ignore him but decided it was best to be civil. He nodded farewell at the dark-haired youth with the white forelock.

  “I have to go tighten a belt drive,” Bram quipped, “or risk having that braying dwarf blow a gasket.”

  He went off down a dark hallway, followed by his hulking bodyguard, who cast a wary eye at them before vanishing around a corner. When they were gone, Angelica heaved a sigh of relief.

  “I really hate him,” Cobee muttered and turned to Giselle and Will. “Why’d you say that?”

  “I don’t know,” Giselle confessed bluntly, frustrated. “I couldn’t stop myself.”

  “Don’t feel bad, because I blew it, too,” Will said. He turned to his second cousin appreciatively. “I don’t know how you saved us, Cobee, but I think you fooled him.”

  “But you’re not fooling me!” a chillingly stern voice growled behind them.

  ***

  “Do you have any idea who that young man was?” a severe female voice said from the shadows in the hallway.

  Will, Angelica, Giselle and Cobee spun with fright. A tall woman in a leather skirt and white blouse stepped into the light. With sky-blue eyes made enormous by thick-lensed, steel-framed glasses, wavy light-brown hair that stuck out in random directions, and a slightly bulbous (but still pretty) nose, they immediately saw a family resemblance.

  “Tante Stefana?” Will guessed.

  “So it’s true!” their aunt gasped, lowering her voice. “You’re Henry and Deet’s children?”

  They nodded.

  “What on B’verlt are you doing here?” she wanted to scream but forced her voice down to a near-whisper. “Why are you using your real names?”

  “We didn’t, Tante Stefana,” Cobee said innocently. “I told everyone they’re the Stevens kids.”

  “No, they said ‘Steemjammer’ just now, and you’re using your real first names! Didn’t anyone stop to think that Will, Angelica and Giselle Stevens would look awfully suspicious? Hm?”

  Sheepish looks spread from face to face. Though their pictures weren’t on the Rasmussen wanted posters, their names were. Of course, they should have thought of that.

  “We have to hope,” Stefana Steemjammer said in a calculating voice, “that Bram will forget what he heard. Fortunately we can trust Mr. Ogilvy. When he realized what your names meant, he came straight to me.”

  “Is he a Stee
mjammer?” Will asked.

  “No, but Clan Ogilvy is firmly on our side and has suffered greatly from Rasmussen mischief. Your mother’s related to them.”

  “Is everyone here related?” Angelica asked.

  “Possibly. Family connections are very important.”

  She glanced around to be sure no one else was nearby.

  “I want answers,” she demanded. “Who sent you here? Hendrelmus?”

  “No,” Will said, starting to explain but hesitating.

  “Well?”

  “Tante Stefana, until today, we didn’t even know you existed. Is it true you married a Rasmussen?”

  She glanced away with a pained expression. “So, it’s going to be like that? What do you know?”

  “Almost nothing,” Giselle said. “They didn’t even tell us about Beverkenverlt.”

  “I see. So you feel an explanation’s in order?”

  “I didn’t mean to insult you,” Will said.

  She studied him, framing her thoughts and relaxing a bit. “I suppose you should hear it from me, so at least you’ll know the truth. Twelve years ago I married Ton Rasmussen. I was only 19, and he was 21. Neither family, as you may well guess, approved. During the assault on Beverkenfort, I was in New London, and things got really bad.

  “Even if I’d been able to reach a verltgaat and escape, I wouldn’t have. A Steemjammer discovered this verlt, and I determined at least one would stay. Ton was pressured by his cousin, Zander, to hand me over, but he refused and lost great standing in his family for it. He urged me to hide. Instead, I came here.

  “This museum was founded by our ancestors, and the charter says a Steemjammer must be Head Curator. Seeing as how the Rasmussens had just killed the previous one, my father, the position needed filling.”

  “That’s you?” Giselle asked. “You’re Head Curator?”

  “Yes. Ton and I decided our marriage should end. I took back my maiden name, Steemjammer, and I’ve been here ever since.”

  “They haven’t come for you?”

  “Oh, they’ve tried, but we’re not completely helpless. New Amsterdam has yet to turn against the Steemjammer name, though other parts of Beverkenverlt have.”

  “Like the English?” Angelica asked. “I noticed Bram has an accent.”

  “As do you, leef, and a very strange one. But no, the English aren’t on their side, though a few have been bullied into helping them. The Rasmussens are Dutch or possibly Danish in origin, but they located their main base, the Shadoverks, in Britannia. They tend to pick up English accents from living there.

  “If you’re with Cobee, I assume you’ve met your Tante Klazee. Does she know you’re here?”

  “She sent us to you,” Will said, starting to feel better. “She said it was all right, that you were still a Steemjammer, no matter what.”

  Lightning seemed to flash in Stefana’s eyes. “How generous of her!” She calmed herself. “Of course it’s all right for you to come to me. I married Ton when I was young. That doesn’t mean I became a Rasmussen or believe what they stand for, which I don’t. But I also question some of the things we believe.

  “This is neither the time nor place to discuss that. You’re in serious danger. Why are you here?”

  “We’re looking for our parents,” Will said, briefly explaining their disappearances and Marteenus’ letter.

  Her eyebrows arched like drawn bows. “You opened a verltgaat? But you’re just kinter!”

  “We’ve been hearing that a lot lately,” Angelica said. “Do you know where our father is?”

  “No.”

  The little girl looked crestfallen, prompting Stefana to soften her voice.

  “I saw him briefly last week,” she said.

  “Did he stay here or go back?”

  “I think he went back.”

  “Could the ….” Anxious, she was unable to finish.

  “The what, leef? Please, relax.”

  Angelica’s voice dropped to a bare whisper. “Could those bad people have caught him?”

  “The Rasmussens? I highly doubt it. If they captured your father, I can’t imagine them keeping it quiet. He’s very resourceful, and wherever he is, I’m quite sure he’s safe.

  “Now, how did you open a world hole? Henry told me you knew nothing of such things.”

  Angelica nodded at Will. “He figured it out.”

  “With no training?” Stefana narrowed her eyes, reassessing Will. “You’ve got your father’s steem, young man, I’ll give you that.”

  He got the sense that she was a highly intelligent and serious woman who didn’t give compliments easily. Her words thrilled him, but, remembering their situation, he tried not to let it show. She took a moment to gather her thoughts.

  “You must return to Old Earth,” she said, “the sooner the better. If our enemy gets hold of you, the consequences would be unthinkable.”

  A wave of irritation struck Will. Everyone here seemed scared and unwilling to explain things clearly, and he didn’t feel like taking it anymore.

  “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 penc
il 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.”