by John Eubank
“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.
“What now?” Bram smirked. “Sister to the rescue?”
“Would you look at those shoes!” Zylph scoffed, pointing.
Bram and his cronies cackled at Giselle, which only made her all the more determined.
“I’ll do it,” she threatened.
Zylph walked over to her.
“You pathetic sleeb,” she said. “Go on. We’ll say you did it as a prank, and they’ll kick you out of the Museum.” She narrowed her eyes. “Or we’ll drag you and your brother somewhere else. It’s not like anyone’s going to instantly appear and save you if you pull that.”
Giselle faltered, but only for a second. She gripped the lever tighter.
“Then again, maybe someone will,” she said, returning Zylph’s glare. “Either way, something will happen to you. I’ll see to it.”
Zylph, who wasn’t used to being challenged, seemed to shoot pure hatred from her pale eyes. Bram laughed.
“Go on,” he told Giselle as his cronies moved even closer to Will. “This could be amusing.”
She started to pull but stopped as her eyes caught motion.
“So, there ye are, Stevens!” an angry voice growled from somewhere down the hall.
Chapter 21
Doo-lally!
“I should’ve known not tah leave ye out o’ sight so long,” the deep, booming voice continued.
“Oh great,” Bram muttered, “the talking tree stump.”
To his great relief, Will saw a scowling Donell Ogilvy over by a Rembrandt painting, marching towards them.
“He’s so short,” Zylph hissed, returning to Bram’s side, “he has to reach up to tie his boots.”
The others stifled cackles, but Bram kept his unyielding eyes locked on Will.
“We’re still trying to decide,” he whispered, “if you’re gaaf or sleeb.”
Zylph rolled her eyes. “He doesn’t even get Dutch, can’t you tell? It means you’re ‘like us’ or ‘slime.’”
“You’re poor and very odd,” Bram concluded. “You hang out with that sleeb, Ren-stink, so you’re probably sleeb. But you ticked off the midget. Maybe, just maybe, there’s a speck of gaaf in you. You’d better hope so. Sleebs don’t last long around here.”
Bram stepped back as Donell arrived.
“Stevens, dinna I warn ye about slackin’ off?” he bellowed. Then, he noticed Giselle. “Ye, too!”
Confused, Will stumbled over words. “Sorry.”
“That ye’ll be, ‘cause none o’ yer chores are even started! So on top o’ those, ye’ll be here through lunch, wipin’ glass and shinin’ brass!”
Bram let out a snicker.
“Oh?” Donell snapped. “Ye want tah polish glass, too? I’ll put ye and your gang o’ grinnin’ goons in the Steemjammer halls and make ye do ‘em twice!”
Bram’s oily smile vanished, and he said snippily, “We already finished our chore.”
“Goot, except that ye should’ve come tah find me and get another. Ye know that.”
“We were, but Stevens interrupted us.”
What a lie, Will thought, but he hoped it didn’t matter. No matter how angry Donell was, it was better than being trapped by Bram and his gang.
“Then what’re ye doin’, jawin’ and gawkin’ and bein’ about as useful as a case full o’ toothless gears?” Donell snarled. “Get tah mah office and wait. I’ll be there once I get this slacker properly motivated and give ye yer next assignment. Well? Move!”
Pausing defiantly for a second, Bram and the others went sullenly down the hall. The hulking bodyguard, who seemed faintly amused, turned to follow.
“First week on the job and hidin’ up here for a nap?” Donell growled at Will and Giselle. “Thought I wouldn’t notice? What am I tah ye then, a sap-headed tomfool?”
Feeling very confused, they said nothing. The short man spewed on a while longer before looking to check that the Rasmussens were gone.
“Hoo,” he said softly. His scowl vanished as a knowing grin beamed from his face. “Lass, tha’ was very brave o’ ye.” He patted Will firmly on the back. “Ye played ‘em like a well oiled steempipe, laddie.”
“Played?” Will asked, still puzzled but relieved to see that Donell’d been faking his anger.
“Best tah grease their belt drive, if ye catch mah drift.”
Will and Giselle shook their heads no, causing Donell to laugh.
“Keep ‘em wonderin’ why their axle slips, and they get no progress!” he said. “Mislead ‘em! Come on, then. Ye best take me tah the others. They are close, aren’t they?”
***
“Here, have a groat klonk,” Donell said as they walked through a seldom-visited Museum display, offering a crumpled brown paper sack.
It hadn’t taken long to find the others, who were shocked to hear about Will’s close brush with Bram and his cronies. Angelica, who’d just asked if they could swing by the commissary for a snack, hesitantly reached in and took a lump that resembled dried mud with tan pebbles. It was dense, like something she could shoot from her sling.
“Go on,” the short man urged. “It dinna bite!” He lowered his voice and explained proudly. “They’re from an old clan recipe. Oats and honey, with things of this world, too. They make ye smile. Really.”
She put it in her mouth, fearing it would taste like dirt. Cobee bent close.
“Don’t chew,” he whispered. “That’s how a friend of mine split a molar.”
“I heard tha’!” Donell said with a pretend-growl, and then he chuckled. “Struth, mah klonks rival limestone in hardness, but tha’ way they never go bad. And tha’ boy, Peter Oostervank, has weak teeth. The whole family’s known for ‘em.”
“I’ll try one,” Will said, and Donell gladly shoved a dozen into his hands.
They each sucked a klonk (even Donell didn’t risk his teeth). The rock-hard lumps were coarse with a sweet but grainy flavor. Then, a zinger of sour hit their tongues, followed by tingly fruitiness. Their faces lit up as bursts of flavor seemed to sparkle all over their mouths.
“Tha’d be the skirlberries,” Donell said with a satisfied grin. “Their taste whirls around in yer mouth, like bagpipe notes!”
“We’re allowed to eat here?” Will asked, remembering the strict rules from
the art museum on Old Earth.
“Hard candy or dried beef. Anythin’ tha’ doesn’t make a mess, aye. Yer Auntie Stef allows it. Bein’ able tah eat helps folk sustain themselves through this vast, tangled jungle o’ cluttered memories and past horrors.”
“Horrors?” Angelica asked.
“Murders, executions, massacres,” Donell said before Will could attempt to stop him.
After a quick glance at the little girl’s face, Donell realized he needed to soften his tone. “Oh, and noble deeds. Tha’ too.”
It didn’t help. Will and Giselle had shown them where Bram and his gang had been, and his sister had been horrified by the diorama of the soldiers’ attack.
“Why,” she asked, fighting back emotion, “would they burn our mill and kill people?”
“Only a few died there,” Donell said gently. “It’s sad, but the rest o’ yer family, including young Gerardus, escaped and moved far downriver tah Holland, where there was tolerance and freedom. If it weren’t for tha’, we wouldn’t be here.”
“But why? How can people be so bad?”
“Lass, the short answer is tha’ there’s evil in the worlds. The old one and this. Do ye really need the long answer?
“Of course not! Look, the Halls of History are amazin’, struth, but they can also be a trap. A spider’s web. There’s poison in here, venom that gets in yer head and rots yer brain, if ye let it.
“Plus the enormity of it! Endless wars, battles, and inventions. This group, they moved here. Then those ones, they sailed there, while these vanished completely. It’s enough tah drive a sound mind bampers!”
“Bampers?” she asked.
“Craicte. Ye know, doo-lally.”
“I think he means crazy,” Giselle suggested.
“Tha’, aye,” Donell said. “Pure plumb crazy!”
“Mom used to sing a song about people who were doo-lally,” Angelica said, smiling from the happy memory.
“I know it, too!”
Donell burst out singing in a loud voice, quite out of tune.
I once kenned a lass who lived by a firth.
Fed coins tah her cattle – she dinna ken worth.