Steemjammer: Through the Verltgaat

by John Eubank

  At sunrise she prayed and crawled intah her bed.

  Tah reach in her larder she stood on her head!

  Doo-lally! Doo-lally!

  Doo-lally! Doo-lally!

  She called herself Annie but answered tah Sallie!

  Doo-lally! Doo-lally!

  Doo-lally! Doo-lally!

  As craicte as anyone down in tha’ valley!

  Recalling good times at home with their mother, warmth spread over Will and Angelica. They joined the short man in the last part, singing as loudly and off key as they could. They couldn’t help but laughing at Cobee and Giselle, who stared quizzically.

  Donell smiled broadly as he looked over Will and Angelica. “Ye realize we’re kinfolk, ye two and me. Cobee and Giselle, yer kin o’ mah kin, so I feel strongly towards ye, too. Dinna ever doubt tha’!”

  He looked around to make sure they were still alone.

  “Yer ma and I are third cousins,” Donell told Will and Angelica proudly. “We share great-great Ogilvy grandparents. Which makes ye and me what?”

  “Fourth cousins?” Will guessed, counting on his fingers.

  “Hah, ye’d think so, but no. Third cousins once removed. Now, if I ever have a wee little bairn – littlin, er, a babe - he or she’d be yer fourth cousin. See?”

  “No. How do you keep it straight?”

  “Struth! It takes work. Like absorbin’ all this mickle muckle.” He gestured at the displays. “So put it out o’ yer heads, because it won’t fit. Oh, dear.”

  “What?”

  “I can’t be seen helpin’ ye. We have tah get out o’ here.”

  His face soured with a terrible grimace. A loud, prolonged belch escaped from him, and he had to twist his face and thump his belly to get the last of it out.

  “Och, history gives me gas,” he said with a shudder, then brightened. “Brain-valves! I have an idea. Hurry now, and hang onto yer klonks, as ye may be needin’ ‘em. It’s said they combat motion sickness.”

  “Huh?” Giselle said, but the short man was almost running as he led them down a hallway.

  ***

  “Ye got tah spit on it!” Donell shouted. “More!”

  For a “safe” place to talk, Donell’d led them to a miniature station and summoned a small, amusement park type train, which clattered to a stop on the narrow gauge tracks in front of them.

  Each car was made to look like a very fast, brightly painted animal. There was a falcon, a cheetah, a shark and a bee. For fun, the last car was a pink and gray snail, but her shell was bent forward, as if she was made for speed. The animal faces had sly grins and wicked slants to their eyes, as if each knew it was the fastest.

  Urging the kids on board (Angelica and Giselle sat in the bee for “Angie-bee”), Donell passed out rags and tin cans filled with an odd-smelling paste. He dropped a punch-card into a slot, and with a mighty HUFF from a steam catapult under the platform, they shot off at a steep angle up a narrow track. The jolt of acceleration shoved them back into their seats.

  “Spit!” he shouted above the clattering and roar of rushing air while pointing at a rag. “More than tha’. It takes a real mouthful.”

  He urged them to clean the cars’ brass handles and decorations while they zoomed around the Steem Museum at high speed on what he’d called a “Fast Tour People Mover” and not what the kids were calling a “roller coaster.”

  “Roller toaster?” he shouted. “What that is, I dinna even ken.” Know.

  He explained what a good plan this was - how they could take the “Fast Tour” and see the Museum, while anyone noticing them would assume they were being punished and made to spit-polish the little train’s brass.

  “See?” he shouted, tapping his head. “Always usin’ mah noggin. Och, hold on!”

  They grabbed handles just in time as the train banked into a high-speed turn and then shot up a steep ramp. Tin cans and rags went flying.

  “No matter,” he shouted, handing back more. “Just dinna run out o’ spit. If ye dinna spit the rags, the paste won’t work.”

  They found they didn’t have much spit left in their mouths, but Donell was happy after they went through the motions of doing so and then rubbing the brass handles.

  “Goot,” he yelled. “Mah grandad helped make this little train. The museum’s huge, as ye can see. Who wants tah walk? And who wants tah get stuck on the borin’ old boat tour?”

  He nodded down at a canal filled with water that had been dyed blue, where little boats chugged along at very slow speed. A couple of young children sitting in one stared up in awe as the little train rocketed by on the clattering tracks.

  “This is really more a giant factory,” Will shouted as they left the exhibit area and rolled through a large foundry where a giant crucible of white-hot molten metal was being poured into a set of molds. Past that a group of people in heavy, protective clothing banged and shaped a white hot piece of steel with hammers. “The museum displays are just a small part, I guess.”

  “Right,” Donell shouted. “Workshops go on and on, and a lot more than steemtraps get made, though they’re quite popular. I keep wantin’ tah build one o’ mah own, but I never can think up a design I like enough.”

  The tracks ran straight for a while, up near the high ceiling of a series of machine shops filled with steam powered rolling presses, stamping mills, and drill presses.

  “Now that we can talk,” the short man continued, “by the Maker’s beard, Will and Giselle, what were ye doin’ takin’ on that entire Raz gang by yerselves?”

  “What is Bram even doing here?” Will countered. “And please don’t say it’s because the Steem Museum’s open to everyone.”

  “Well, that is a part of the founding charter, and yer Auntie Stef takes it very seriously.”

  “Even the enemy?”

  “Believe me, I don’t want him here, but things are under control.”

  “How? We saw Bram in a storage room where Dad had a verltgaat set, searching.”

  “Well, I know tha’. Like mah grandad said, if yer steam won’t come out dry, then make a pot o’ tea.”

  Will frowned with consternation. “Huh?”

  “I think he means,” Giselle guessed, “to turn a negative situation into a positive one.”

  “Aye, lass!” Donell beamed. “Since we have tah endure that Raz whelp, we’ve been keepin’ a sharp eye on him.”

  “You’ve been spying on him?” Will said.

  “Aye.”

  “Then, what’s he looking for?”

  “We’re still tryin’ tah figure that out.”

  “Not anymore,” Will said, explaining how the bodyguard picked a lock so Bram could crawl inside an encased display to test a meteorite.

  Astonished, Donell’s mouth and eyes opened so wide that they would have laughed had the situation not been so serious and the little train so rickety.

  “Breakin’ in?” the short man bellowed. “Pourin’ chemicals on what? A hemel steen?”

  “A meteorite, yes,” Angelica said. “We have one in the library and more in the – AGH!”

  They all grabbed handles as the train banked sharply and plunged almost straight down. It darted under a massive steel beam and whipped and snaked around posts and walls.

  “Oo!” Donell grunted, his knuckles turning white as he struggled to hang on. “Bit o’ a tight turn there. Grandad’s way o’ seein’ tha’ we keep sharp.”

  The little train pulled straight and surged back up near the ceiling.

  “Isn’t there a seat belt?” Angelica yelled.

  “A whuh?” Donell said with great confusion. “Why would a seat need a belt? They dinna wear pants!”

  “Just hold on and don’t let go,” Giselle told her.

  They whipped through a series of tight turns between massive columns.

  “I think I’m gonna throw up,” Angelica groaned.

  “No, yer not,” Donell shouted. “Yer a Steemjammer.”

  “Really, I’m about to barf.”


  “Have a groat klonk.”

  “What?”

  “Go on, have one.”

  Will handed her one from his pocket. She really didn’t want it, but as she remembered the happy taste of the skirlberries, her nausea lessened. So she popped it in her mouth. The real thing worked better.

  “All goot?” Donell shouted.

  She nodded. Soon all the kids were sucking groat klonks and clenching brass handles.

  “Och, we’re almost there!” Donell said. “There’s something I almost forgot. I was comin’ tah get ye for a reason.”

  “Wait,” Will demanded. “What about the meteorite? He said it was fake, but why would Bram and my dad be looking for one in the first place, especially when we already have some in Beverkenhaas?”

  “In a moment. Now listen, I dinna ken what ye’ve been told, but rumors on the subject are thicker than flies on - er – ye know what flies like.”

  “Donell,” Cobee demanded, “what are you talking about?”

  “The marriage.”

  “Huh?”

  “Ye have tah believe me. There’s no finer or truer person, in spite o’ what gets said. So ye must be trustin’, right? Do ye follow me at all?”

  “No,” Giselle and Angelica said together.

  “Just slow down,” Will said, wincing from pain in his stomach, “and explain from the beginning.”

  Donell sighed. “Too late.”

  Steam brakes hissed under the cars, and they slumped forward as the train came to a sudden stop in a sparse, station-like area in a far corner of the Steem Museum. Deserted, the place looked seldom used.

  “It’s about time,” said a familiar voice with irritation.

  A woman stood before them, glancing at a pocket watch, and she didn’t look happy. It was Tante Stefana.

  Chapter 22

  a change of plans

  “This way,” Stefana commanded. “Please hurry.”

  Leading them down a long, empty hallway in the back of the Steem Museum, she pushed aside a faded tapestry and opened a secret door cleverly made to look like part of the stone wall. Beyond it stretched a storage room filled with old weapons, uniforms, and damaged contraptions. Some looked like disassembled verltgaat machines.

  “Does any of this work?” Giselle asked.

  “No, or we would have already sent you back,” Stefana said. “Some are spare parts from actual verltgaat machines, like this.”

  To Will’s surprise, she returned the drawing he’d made earlier, which he pocketed. Kneeling, she rotated an old control panel for them all to see.

  “Is it like the one in Beverkenhaas?” she asked.

  Donell, who’d finished locking the secret door, brought over a lamp, and they examined a timer board almost identical to the one in their home.

  “Yes,” Will answered. “Only ours is very scuffed.”

  “I suspected as much,” she said gravely. “This is the one you set?”

  She pointed at a dial that seemed to be marked UU.

  “I think so,” he said hesitantly.

  “Study it carefully.”

  The curvy script confused him, and he had to take a moment to try to settle the nausea left over from the jerky train ride. He saw a symbol shaped a lot like a UU, just like the one in Beverkenhaas, but this joined in the middle like a W, instead.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “Is that a W?”

  “Yes, but done in an old-fashioned style. See the rounded bottoms? Now, was it scuffed here?” She held a piece of paper over the top of the letter. “Giving a separation, so that it looked like a couple of U’s?”

  A sinking feeling seemed to drag will to the floor. “It wasn’t UU? I set a dial marked W?”

  “You just went through the Halls of History,” she said. “Can you put it together?”

  “But it has to mean ‘hour!’ Even on this board there isn’t a U or UU. Why would there be no dial for hours?”

  “Where are we from, originally?”

  “The Black Forest, but – oh verdoor.” He suddenly got it. “These old boards aren’t in Dutch. We used to speak German!”

  “Verbeter.” Correct. “This one, ST, means ‘stunden’ or hours in German. And W stands for ‘wochen,’ or weeks.”

  “I set it for a whole week!”

  His nausea intensified, and he feared he would throw up. He had to put a hand on the wall to steady himself.

  “Will, it’s not as bad as it sounds,” his aunt said with surprising sympathy. “At least you didn’t set it for J, or ‘Jahren.’ Then, we’d have to wait a whole year.”

  “But the firebox in Beverkenhaas will burn out,” Will said, “and there will be no steam to drive the machine.”

  “You have an automatic log-feeder, neh?”

  “It’s only good for a few days. Maybe more, since no one’s there to use the systems, but I can’t imagine it lasting past Monday or Tuesday. By the time Thursday morning comes, our boiler will be stone cold. There will be no steam when the verltgaat tries to open!”

  Her warm smile surprised them all. “Relax, please. I might know something about your father you don’t.” She turned to Giselle. “Deetricus, too. Never forget that I’m their little sister, and let me assure you, I don’t think for a moment either of them would have gone off through a verltgaat without more of a backup than a timer.”

  “There’s another boiler?” Angelica asked.

  “No, leef, a backup fuel system. If the timer connects but there’s no steam, my guess is that a hidden coal box or reservoir of oil will activate, heating the boiler. There’s an excellent chance that on Thursday morning at nine o’clock, the timer will count down, steam will be produced, and the verltgaat will open in Tante Klazee’s house.”

  Will felt a surge of relief. “It could really be that easy?”

  “We’ll have to see.”

  “Not if Marteenus gets into Beverkenhaas,” Angelica warned, “and finds the machine.”

  “Let’s hope that doesn’t happen,” her aunt said. The most important thing is that you remain unharmed. Kinter, you’re not going to like this next part.”

  She wiped her glasses and took a moment to frame her thoughts.

  “That young Rasmussen’s taken far too much interest in you,” she continued, “and between your encounter with Clyve Harrow and the one you just had with Bram, it’s a miracle nothing has gone wrong. I can see now that my original idea was far too risky. You must go straight to your Tante Klazee’s and stay there, indoors, until Thursday.”

  Her words hit them like a door slamming shut.

  “No,” Will protested. “You have to listen to us. We know things you don’t.”

  She started to contest him but saw Donell hold up a hand.

  “He saw Bram,” he said, “inside the glass with Gerardus and Newton.”

  Stefana’s eyes opened wide. “What?”

  As Will explained what he’d seen, she listened with rapt attention. When he finished, she looked away, pressing a finger to either side of her face.

  “The hemel steen?” she said. “And he said it was fake?”

  “Yes,” Will said.

  “That’s strange, because it’s real.”

  “What?”

  “It’s part of a ‘falling star,’ if such things really exist, that Gerardus collected on Old Earth.”

  “Like the ones in Beverkenhaas?” Angelica asked.

  “I would assume so,” Tante Stefana said. “This makes no sense. There are pieces of Gerardus’s meteorite all over. We must have a dozen here.”

  “Could the Raz,” Will asked, “somehow use one to open verltgaats?”

  “No. They’ve been tested, and they’re just iron ore with a little nickel and iridium – no special properties at all.”

  “Then, why was it kept?” Giselle asked.

  Stefana shrugged. “A curiosity? Because it was special to Gerardus?”

  “We have to find out,” Will said, “or risk ‘losing all.’ My father wro
te that in his journal. Don’t you know what it is he’s looking for?”

  Tante Stefana sighed.

  “No,” she said. “He asked me a lot of questions that made clear he was searching for something very important, but he never trusted me with what it was.”

  Will sensed an expression of hurt on her face, but she willed it away quickly.

  “Well, I trust you,” Will said, “and I’ve told you everything I know.”

  For a moment her eyes started to water.

  “Wilhelmus Steemjammer,” she said, her voice cracking, “I do appreciate that, more than you can imagine.”

  She collected herself before continuing. “You and your father have taken insane risks, and it has to stop. Your safety, Will, is all that matters, neh? Before arguing with me, please listen, because there’s more.”

  She looked away, lost in deep thought. Clearly something bothered her greatly.

  “The other day, I advised you to lie,” she said, turning her gaze to the floor. “I don’t know what possessed me. Fear? Wanting to save you from harm? Last night I dug through old writings and realized I’d made a horrible mistake. I’m so sorry, but much has been withheld from me, ever since my ill-advised marriage.”

  Feeling sorry for her, Angelica reached out. Tante Stefana gripped her little hand and seemed to draw comfort.

  “Our ancestors,” she continued, “believed ‘goot steem’ is more than just intelligence and a knack for making things. They say it comes from an ability to see truth at a deeper level. This is the reason we can open verltgaats, and it’s why we find it almost impossible to tell falsehoods. It seems we must be truthful to see deeper truth.

  “What’s more, if we tell lies, we might actually damage ourselves. What I read warned of a very real chance that we lose our goot steem and even risk our health.”

  Shocked looks crossed the Steemjammer kids’ faces, and Giselle spoke up. “Our health?”

  “I don’t want to frighten you,” their aunt said, “but yes. They said that those with the Steemjammer name were at most risk.”

  “How risky?” Will asked. “Death?”

  She put her hand on Will’s shoulder.