Steemjammer: Through the Verltgaat

by John Eubank

“Will, wake up!”

  ***

  His sister shook him. “I can’t do this anymore.”

  Still caught between his nightmare and reality, Will sat up. He found himself in a trundle bed in Cobee’s room, surrounded by book shelves and wall paper covered with exotic airships, not Shadovecht. Angelica looked unhappy.

  “Do I have to go back?” she pleaded.

  Unsure what she meant, his mind returned to the previous afternoon. They’d come back to their Tante Klazee’s house to find her waiting with a balding man with wild, wispy tufts of red hair. A trusted doctor who spoke with a thick Dutch accent, he’d made a haasbezook (house call) to examine Will.

  He said the poison had been stopped in time but that aches and weakness would be normal as his body repaired itself. The only bad news was that Will had to take a spoonful of the horrid-tasting remedy twice a day for a full week.

  “Are you even listening?” Angelica accused.

  Will snapped back to the present, smiling. “Not really. You mean the Steem Museum? Of course we have to go back. Tante Stefana said we have to be seen.”

  “Right, to fool the Rasmussens, but isn’t that the same as lying? Also, I can’t stand it when Cobee says I’m Angie-bee Stevens. Angie-bee’s my real nickname. That part’s okay, but not the other.”

  Getting up, he feared that his side would resume throbbing. He was thankful that it was only a little sore.

  “I know it’s hard,” he said, “but you know what will happen if they figure out who we really are.”

  She nodded, wincing.

  “We kept secrets from people in Beverkenhaas,” Will continued, “like trying not to let anyone see the penguins, and Mom and Dad kept secrets from us.”

  “But they also said to always tell the truth.”

  “Does that mean we can’t hide things - that we have to tell everyone everything we know?”

  She looked away. “It’s one thing to hide something, but it’s another to lie or let others lie for you. Even thinking about it makes me sick.”

  Will thought about how he’d told Bram his real name, even though he knew it could bring disaster on them. By sheer luck the young Rasmussen had seemed to think they were only joking. Even though it had saved them, something about it turned his stomach.

  “It gets to me, too,” he admitted. “When I felt bad yesterday, maybe it was from misleading people. Even so, we have to go back and try to find Dad. We’re just going to have to be tough. I don’t see any other way.”

  “Will,” a voice called from another room. “You’d better come see this. Something’s wrong with Gus.”

  “Gus!” he said, realizing he’d forgotten all about the little Gnome. He followed his sister down the hall.

  ***

  Angelica and Giselle slept in a guest room where Tante Klazee had placed an old doll bed for Gus. He’d remained frozen in his stone-like form, and Klazee and Alfonz had assured them he’d be fine, that he just needed some time.

  “Thoos!” a tiny voice murmured with a heartfelt sob.

  Will rushed in behind Angelica, and he saw Giselle and Cobee standing over Gus, watching with concern. The Gnome knelt on the floor, weeping and kissing the wooden planks over and over.

  “Thoos!” he said again. Home!

  “I woke up,” Giselle said, “and saw him acting like this.”

  “Gus, what’s wrong?” Will said.

  The Gnome didn’t respond.

  “Why does he keep saying that?” Giselle asked. “Did he used to live here?”

  “To this haas, he’s not meaning,” a voice said from the doorway. It was Alfonz, who’d been forced to leave the day before by his wanderlust. He looked tired, like he’d spent most of the night walking the city before coming back. “For home, Beverkenverlt he means. Gnomes, they from here are. This verlt, neh?”

  “Tante Klazee said it was bad for his health to be on Old Earth, that he had to spend most of his time frozen – or he might have died.”

  Tiny, glass-like tears ran down Gus’ cheeks, making wet spots on his shirt and vest.

  “I don’t understand,” Angelica said. “Toory and Klemmie do just fine in Ohio, and they’re from here.”

  “Not zo,” Alfonz said. “De vetganen,” the penguins, “from Old Earth were here bringing. Stand under?”

  “Oh, they were originally earth penguins, and they turned purple here and grew their little crowns. They changed like people changed.”

  “Ya.”

  Will studied Gus. “You all right?”

  The exhausted little Gnome, who’d climbed back into bed, nodded and closed his eyes. “Thoos.”

  “Maybe his body needs elements that only exist here,” Giselle said. “No wonder he feels bad.”

  “Some time be giving,” Alfonz said. “Fine, he’ll be.” He closed his eyes and took a deep sniff, smiling broadly. “Ah, what a big smell I have! This smell you’re having?”

  The Steemjammer kids covered their mouths to suppress laughter, each thinking to correct his poor choice of words but instead sensing the wonderful aroma of breakfast wafting up the steps from the kitchen. Alfonz urged them to go eat while he took a bath – and to save him some waffles, which were making the heavenly scent. Those were his favorite food, he added, and after eleven years of substandard ones on Old Earth, he was very much looking forward to these.

  ***

  As they gathered around the breakfast table, Will remembered the spectacular meal Klazee’d fed them the night before and couldn’t believe he was going to eat again. She’d started off by serving a thick split pea soup called “snert” from a frog-shaped tureen. Packed with smoked ham and topped with a swirl of heavy cream, it had been a meal in itself. But it had only been her first course.

  She’d brought out a magnificent herbed-roasted chicken, crispy on the outside and juicy in the middle, followed by cheese-stuffed dumplings with sauce, poached salmon in dill butter, savory vegetable dishes, salad, fresh baked rolls and a choice of six fruit jams.

  After all that came dessert. Sticky honey cakes, berry tarts smothered with whipped cream, and a sweet custard in caramel sauce. He couldn’t believe how much he’d eaten.

  Now Klazee brought them a platter piled high with steaming hot, thick golden wafels (waffles) fresh out of a special cooking iron that shaped them like nuts, bolts and interlocking gears.

  Next came crisp bacon, plump sausages, and a choice of smoked or pickled herrings. A fresh loaf of warm bread sat on a cutting board with a tub of sweet butter.

  “This is zinkberry syrup,” she said, pointing to a glass pitcher filled with a pink liquid so bright that it seemed to glow. “It’s made from a plant native to Beverkenverlt, so just try a dot, first, to see if you have a reaction. If it stings your tongue like nettles, don’t eat any more. That means you’re allergic.”

  She set down honey, a bowl of homemade appelmoos – applesauce – topped with thickened cream, and a basket of date-sized, brownish-orange fruits that were square.

  “They’re goot,” she explained, going back to the kitchen. “They taste like snookendapp but less bitter, and no allergies. Try one.”

  Out of her view, Cobee took a couple and slid them into his pocket, signaling the others not to touch them.

  “It makes her happy,” he whispered, “to think we had some, but they taste very different, person to person. She loves them, but they leave a horrible metal flavor in my mouth. For others it’s rotten eggs, and some get their tongue turned black for a whole week!”

  “I find it interesting,” Giselle said, eying the little fruits warily, “that there’s a mix of plants from Old Earth and - what did Tante Klazee call them? Native ones? So our ancestors brought Old Earth plants with them, but others already grew here?”

  Cobee nodded. “Native plants tend to be squared off and not rounded. Some are totally poisonous, some delicious. But most are really weird.”

  Weird, Will thought, recalling the crack in the sky and the idea of the sun and mo
on traveling along tracks on wheels – and so many other strange things. Since arriving he’d been focused on practical issues, and there’d been no time to grasp B’verlt’s fundamental strangeness.

  “What is this place?” he asked, flabbergasted. “I mean, where are we relative to Old Earth?”

  Cobee made an exaggerated shrug. “That’s another reason to find your vader. I bet he knows, or your moyder. They say she studies that sort of thing. You know, the big questions.”

  Reminded of her mom, Angelica felt saddened but tried to stay upbeat. Giselle put a hand on her shoulder to give her assurance, which helped.

  Will also felt a tug of heartache. His mom had been gone some time, and he really missed her. He recalled his father saying something similar, that she was much smarter than he was. She’d been principally in charge of their education, and now he wished he’d pressed her for more information.

  Why, he wondered, hadn’t they taught him about this place? He felt so ignorant. How did weird elements like Incendium work? What was the Maker or Great Maker they kept referencing? God? Something else? The questions seemed to have no easy answers, so he put off asking.

  “Alfonz was right,” Angelica said, taking a bite of wafel and savoring it. “These are delicious!”

  Suddenly hungry, Will ate some, and a warm grin spread across his face as he slowly chewed. Crisp with a nutty, buttery flavor on the outside, soft and creamy in the middle, the wafels were absolutely perfect.

  Even better, the zinkberry syrup didn’t sting his mouth, and it was like nothing he’d ever tasted. Sweet with just enough sour and layers of wonderful fruit flavors that ranged between perfectly ripe boysenberries, aromatic cherries and something exotic and tropical, like mango – he poured on more and ate heartily.

  “Alles zit goot?” Tante Klazee asked. All is good?

  “Wonderful,” Angelica said. “Best wafels in either world!”

  Will nodded enthusiastically, indicating that he had too much in his mouth to speak. A glow of satisfaction beamed from Klazee’s face. She hugged them and piled more on their plates.

  “Save some for Alfonz,” Angelica remembered, “or he’ll be very disappointed.”

  Klazee laughed. “Don’t worry, I have plenty more.”

  “My groesmoyder’s the best cook in New Amsterdam!” Cobee said. “We’re so lucky.”

  “Kinter’ve got to be well fed,” she said, blushing and pouring hot tea for Giselle from an ornate pot shaped like a windmill. “This tea grows in the south near the desert. They call it Watergoyzen Victory. It’s fermented and then roasted quite dark.”

  “It’s strong,” Giselle said, taking a sip, “but nicely balanced. I like it.”

  The others drank from earthenware mugs filled with a spicy-sweet, hot milk beverage called “slemp.” Like snert, Will thought, it tasted a lot better than it sounded.

  “Too bad kaffee bushes won’t grow here,” Klazee said. “And cocoa trees! The poor things just wilt and die. Your father, Henry, always remembered to bring me chocolate, but we have to keep it very secret. It’s said Rasmussen’s can smell it a mile away and know it’s tied to us.”

  “Because we’re the only ones who can travel back to Old Earth?” Angelica asked.

  “Ya, leef.” She lowered her voice to a bare whisper. “And we have to make sure we can still do that. Wilhelmus, did Stefana really say nothing about the verltgaat?”

  Will felt a tinge of guilt over the issue. “She took my drawing, and we haven’t seen her since.”

  “Maybe we find out today. Cobee, are you sure they feed you enough for lunch? Perhaps I should pack some, just to be sure.”

  Will got up, and then winced from a brief but sharp jolt of pain in his side. He had to grab the chair to steady himself.

  “You didn’t take your remedy yet, didn’t you?” Tante Klazee chided as he frowned in anticipation of the horrible taste. “To the kooken.” Kitchen. “Oytsel het de deef de teed.” Procrastination is the thief of time.

  It was an old saying his father’d used many a time, but it didn’t make Will feel any better about facing the dreaded spoonful of awful black glop. He hoped she had a radish, because it really did help with the foul taste.

  ***

  At the Steem Museum, Donell was busy but hinted that they’d find something in the locker room, where they’d left their protective clothing. After a quick search, Will found a note in the pocket of his oilskin duster. It was from Tante Stefana, but it said she’d made no progress, which they took to mean the verltgaat timer. She also told them to be careful but also to be seen acting normally.

  That was the first of many disappointments that Friday. Another long search of the storage room turned up nothing, and Will grew irritated as they pretended to do some chores to “be seen.” Compared to finding his father, this seemed of little importance. He feared they were the only ones taking this issue seriously, and the lack of progress frustrated him greatly.

  During lunch they worked on the steemtrap with Cobee and his friends, which only served to irritate Will further. At least Angelica had made a friend, he noted, as she and Rachel sat together, deep in conversation. But they weren’t here for that, he told himself. They had to find Dad, or at the very least get some sense of what these Rasmussens were doing.

  “Ten-point-nine percent,” Sully said wryly. He’d just finished straightening out the steam pipes and had taken a pressure measurement. “Not bad.”

  Will tensed, recalling how he’d disturbed them the day before, but Sully didn’t make anything of it. No one else seemed to pay attention, except for Kate, who sat in a corner with her hair covering her face. Only this time, Will noticed an eye peering through a gap in her hair, staring right at him. She didn’t look away, either, which surprised him.

  ***

  For the rest of the day, they searched another storage room where Cobee had seen Hendrelmus but found nothing. Looking out a window, they did notice an expensive, chauffeured locomobile returning Bram and his bodyguard after lunch. Cobee explained that the young Raz was “too good to eat with us” and went to their base on Texel Island for his meals.

  “Hey,” Will said excitedly, “I have an idea. We all know Bram’s here to spy and cause trouble, and he must know something. Why don’t we spy on him?”

  To his dismay, the others talked him out of it. When they reminded him of Tante Stefana’s request, he realized maybe it wasn’t worth the risk. If the young Raz caught them, he might realize their identities, and so far he seemed to be ignoring them.

  The next morning, after another gigantic dinner and ridiculously large breakfast from Tante Klazee, they found themselves back in the Steem Museum lobby. They’d planned on insisting that Donell take them to Tante Stefana, but he was nowhere to be seen. Mildred, who looked flustered, had the task of handing out assignments to kids in the Apprentice and Youth Volunteer programs. A dozen of them stood around her, badgering her with questions.

  “Finish the assignment,” she called to Cobee, “that you were given yesterday.”

  “That’s odd,” Will whispered. “There wasn’t one.”

  “Let’s get out of here, then,” Cobee answered, leading them quickly away, “in case she realizes that.”

  As they went down a wide corridor to go back to the large junk room and resume searching, Will stopped.

  “Why are we doing this?” he said.

  “It was your idea,” Cobee replied.

  “No, my idea was to make Donell take us to Tante Stefana, so we could try to get some answers.”

  “It was your idea,” Angelica said, “to look for clues to find Dad.”

  “But we did that, and there was nothing.” Will sighed, wishing he could better explain how he felt. “Look, I don’t want to waste another day here.”

  “What else can we do?”

  “I don’t know, except that Dad wrote he had to find ‘it’ or risk losing all. We’re running out of time. I think we have to try something different.”
>
  He looked around to make sure no one else could hear.

  “How long do you think we have?” Cobee said worriedly.

  Will shrugged. “Marteenus said he wasn’t going to feed Onkel Deet.”

  Giselle tensed, and Will immediately felt guilty for bringing that up.

  “I hope,” he continued, “he was only bluffing and will give him food.”

  “A big man like my dad could go weeks without eating,” Giselle said bravely. “I worry about that little creep getting into Beverkenhaas and finding the machine. Did we even shut the trap door?”

  “I think so,” Angelica said, who’d been the last to use it, “but I’m not sure.”

  “See?” Will said. “We have to do something now.”

  A high pitched shout echoed down the corridor. Concerned, they ran to a dimly lit side hallway and saw a woman in Museum overalls on the floor. She tried to push herself up, but her hands slipped out from under her.

  “Vervlookte grappenmaakers!” she muttered. Cursed pranksters!

  “Are you hurt?” Angelica asked.

  The woman switched to mildly accented English. “Just a bruise, I think, but I could have broken my neck! Look. This isn’t an accidental spill.”

  She ran her hands over a thin film of oil that was very hard to see on the poorly lit tiles.

  “Someone,” Will said, examining a brass lamp on the wall, “took oil from here and spread it on the floor. The fuel reservoir cap is loose.”

  “But why?” the woman said as Cobee and Giselle helped her to her feet after she took off her oil-stained shoes. “Who would do such a thing?”

  “I think I know,” Will said, carefully skirting the oil slick and running down the hall.

  Soon, he reached a doorway, and on the other side, a wide open staircase wound its way up several floors into darkness. Hearing someone snickering, he dared to stick his head inside to look. Up a few flights, shapes moved, silhouetted by dim lamp light. He caught a brief glimpse of a familiar face.

  Will pulled back, pretty sure he hadn’t been noticed. Angelica, Giselle and Cobee came up behind him.