Houten whacked Henry’s leg with the cane. “Follow me, little ducks.”
Not allowing time for questions, Houten wobbled through the doorway. And like a true gaggle, Henry and the Moore grandchildren closely followed the slow moving man, all remarking at once.
“So we’re the descendants of Stephanus Van Cortlandt?” Catharine asked.
Maggie added, “Wouldn’t that mean our families have the two Sister Wheels?”
Clemmie aggressively wiped the endless layer of ash from his jacket. “And I would like some clean clothes, if that is at all possible.”
Henry was the last to speak. “What do you know about the poem ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas?”
Houten continued down the tunnel, encircled by the flock of people.
“You all must keep your voices low,” Houten whispered. “First, we’ll go see Hostrupp so everyone will receive new clothes. It has become even more imperative that the Garrisons never find any of you.” Houten turned to Maggie. “Stephanus Van Cortlandt passed the Sister Wheels and Poppel information to his son Philip, who split the wheels between his two sons, Pierre and Stephen. The Livingstons married into Pierre’s lineage and carry Sarah’s wheel while your Van Cortlandt relatives are Stephen’s direct descendants and have Grace’s. Mrs. Catharine Moore and Mr. Sidney Livingston were the last in the two Van Cortlandt lines to know the history.”
“What do you know about our grandmother?” Catharine asked.
“And my father,” Henry added, coming up behind Catharine who didn’t appreciate his encroachment and shot an annoyed glance.
Houten stopped walking and squinted up at the young faces.
“I had known Mr. Sidney Livingston since he was a boy. Major Henry and his son used to come all the way down from Poughkeepsie a couple of times a year. Eventually, it became too long of a trip for Major Henry, but Sidney would visit Poppel when he was studying at the seminary in the city.”
“And that was when he met our grandmother,” Louis added plainly.
“Well, yes and no,” Houten said. “Sidney first met her daughter, Margaret, who had received the family secret from her grandmother, Elizabeth. Mrs. Catharine Moore had never known about Poppel until her daughter began mysteriously disappearing down fireplaces. It was then Mrs. Moore befriended Mr. Livingston and the two of them became deeply bonded.”
“And Grandfather Clement knew about this?” Maggie asked.
“Mr. Moore knew of Mr. Sidney Livingston calling on Mrs. Moore and the children at Chelsea Manor. But was he aware of the Van Cortlandt family history, the Sister Wheels, and Poppel? No, I do not believe he knew any of that. Even when ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas was published and later tied to his name, Mr. Moore thought it was simply a childish poem by the Poughkeepsie man he despised. And a man he eventually drove out of New York by a fallacious plagiarism claim.”
The group reached the trapdoor that connected the tunnel to the backroom of Kleren. One by one, they climbed through the floor and were met by a grinning Hostrupp.
“Well, well,” Hostrupp said, softly patting his palms together. “They just keep arriving.”
Houten was the last person to be pulled up. It took the combined efforts of Henry, Clemmie, and Louis to hoist the plump old man into the backroom.
“So these are the newcomers causing quite a stir outside!” Hostrupp’s mauve eyes danced as he examined Catharine, Clemmie, and Louis. “You’re very, very lucky. The Garrisons have already come through here, searching under this and that, turning the entire place inside out. Trying to track you special folks down! But some Foundling clothes will help you troublemakers blend.”
Catharine was the first to get changed. While her sister disappeared into a dressing room, Maggie spied a row of trousers hanging in the corner. Grabbing a pair off a hook and a shirt lying nearby, Maggie slid into a broom closet before anyone took notice. A few minutes later, Maggie emerged wearing more comfortable clothes.
“What is all this?” Hostrupp stopped adjusting the collar of Louis’ silver jacket when he caught sight of Maggie’s brown trousers and white shirt. “Foundling ladies are not to be wearing male attire.”
“If I’m going to be chased by Garrisons, I’m going to be wearing something I can actually run in,” Maggie defended.
Taken aback by Maggie’s passion, Hostrupp didn’t argue and actually looked over at Catharine to see if she had similar objections.
“I’m content with my clothes,” Catharine said bluntly, pinching the fabric of her skirt.
“Wonderful,” Hostrupp replied, clapping his hands.
If Hostrupp’s goal had been to make Catharine less stunning, he had failed. Her deep red dress with white trim caused her to be even more striking in appearance. And Maggie couldn’t help but notice Henry having difficulty taking his eyes off her sister.
Clemmie walked out of the corner dressing room wearing a lavender suit and hat with a light beige vest. “I’ve trouble believing that I won’t be easily spotted dressed as a lilac bush.”
Clemmie dropped an armful of clothes on the floor. Something within the pile clinked against the ground before rolling out of a pocket. It didn’t take Maggie much time to recognize the emblem from the Chelsea Manor fireplace. Even Houten’s nearly blind eyes identified the golden object instantly.
Houten pointed his cane at the emblem lying in the middle of the floor. “Where did you get that?”
Clemmie bent over and scooped it up. “It came loose from the fireplace in Chelsea Manor.”
“Do you know what that is?” Houten asked flabbergasted.
Clemmie stared down at his hand and shook his head. Catharine and Henry came over and peered at the small trinket.
“Why, it’s a Sister Wheel!” Hostrupp observed. “How fascinating! How marvelous!”
“Sister Wheel?” Maggie echoed.
“Why didn’t you tell us you were carrying it?” Houten snapped, whipping up his cane and prodding Clemmie’s chest with it.
Clemmie looked flustered and responded slowly. “Because… this isn’t a wheel.”
Houten smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand. “A clock wheel, you silly boy! The wheels of a clock contain round centers that hold emblems like the one in your hand. And in the case of the Sister Wheels, they allow the unlimited time. At least when they all are placed inside the original Horologe brought all the way to Poppel from Belgium.”
Houten hobbled over to Clemmie and snatched the wheel out of his outstretched hand. Turning it around in his crooked fingers, Houten eyed every bit of its golden surface.
“Outstanding,” Houten said, bringing the wheel up to his narrow gaze. “No doubt it once belonged to Grace. Passed down through Stephen’s side of the Van Cortlandts before being given to Mrs. Catharine Moore’s daughter, Margaret, and then hidden in Chelsea Manor’s fireplace.” Houten looked at Clemmie and murmured darkly, “Castriot would kill to have it.”
“But why?” Henry blurted. “I thought Castriot didn’t want Van Cortlandt descendants returning to Poppel for fear of exactly this―uniting the Sister Wheels and bringing Nikolaos of Myra back.”
“Yes, if all the Sister Wheels were united in the Horologe that would bring an end to the Garrisons. But in case you hadn’t realized, Poppel already has one of the three wheels.”
“They accused us of stealing it earlier!” Maggie exclaimed. “But whose would they have?”
“Lily’s,” Louis remarked thoughtfully. “It has to be Lily’s. But how could that be? What became of her?”
Houten stiffened. “That is a story for another time and place. All I’ll say is that the Foundlings acquired Lily’s wheel centuries ago. And since that time have enjoyed long lives down here. If Grace’s Sister Wheel were to be added to Lily’s in the Horologe, it would further extend the time given to Poppel. Which is why we must not let the Garrisons know who you are and what you have. They would first make sure the Sister Wheel is taken and then see to it that all of you are destroy
ed.”
Clemmie loudly gulped.
“But how did the Garrisons come to know about the Sister Wheels?” Catharine asked. “I have a hard time believing that the Foundlings were so forthcoming with all this information once the Garrisons had taken over.”
Hostrupp jumped in again. “Oh, when the Garrisons invaded long ago it was terribly, terribly terrible. Foundlings have always been extensive records keepers, going back over a thousand years when Poppel was first founded in Belgium. But when the Garrisons attacked Poppel ever so suddenly, we had no time―no time at all―to hide our records away, including the mighty fine tale of the three sisters. One of the very first things they did in Poppel―the very first―was hole themselves up in the Boeken Kamer, where they quickly learned all there was to Poppel and its legends.”
“Boeken Kamer?” Henry repeated.
“Poppel’s library,” Harriet quickly supplied.
Clemmie let out a laugh. “Of course, Poppel has a library. On top of everything else, why wouldn’t it! I imagine Poppel will also be getting its own postal service and navy any day now.”
Harriet glowered. “The library is where we keep all our books and records, including those that came all the way from Belgium centuries ago.”
Receiving Harriet’s glare, Clemmie became stoic once again.
“So if the Garrisons have Lily’s wheel and we have Grace’s,” Louis said slowly, counting on his fingers, “there is only one left―Sarah’s.”
“And that means it would be somewhere in the lineage of Stephanus, which went from Pierre Van Cortlandt to Major Henry to…” Maggie trailed off.
“My father,” Henry whispered, his eyes growing large.
Houten nodded. “Yes, Sidney Livingston would have been the last to know the whereabouts of Sarah’s wheel.”
“But you said that the wheel and story was always passed on to another family member,” Catharine said. “My mother, Margaret, would have been the last one in our family to know, but she died too suddenly to pass it on. However, Sidney just died recently. Why would he not tell Henry anything?”
Before Henry could respond, Maggie interjected, “What makes you think he didn’t?” Maggie turned to Henry. “You said you have letters and journals from your father. Did he ever once mention Poppel, or perhaps, the wheel?”
Henry thought carefully for a moment. “I… I don’t know. He wrote so much about Catharine and Margaret. But if there were any references to Poppel, it must have been done rather cryptically, because I don’t recall anything specific.”
Reaching into his jacket’s inner pocket, Henry pulled out a thick stack of yellowed papers that were tied together by a taut piece of twine. He went over to the corner and dropped the pile on the ground. The rest of the room watched as he rifled through the mound of letters, searching desperately for something perhaps overlooked.
“He shouldn’t bother,” Houten said gruffly. “Even if he could pinpoint the exact location of Sarah’s wheel, there’s still one element missing.”
“And what is that?” Maggie sighed, exhausted by the thought of even more parts to the already convoluted story.
“Although each individual wheel can be placed into the Horologe, there is only one tool that could successfully unite all three. And it hasn’t been heard of since Grace, Sarah and Lily still ran Poppel in the 1500s. It could be with either line of the Van Cortlandt families or it could have been left far away in Belgium altogether, never to be seen again.”
“What kind of tool is it?” Louis asked.
“Oh, I don’t even know exactly,” Houten said, scratching his deeply wrinkled forehead. “Some key or crank, I suppose.”
A large commotion suddenly sounded from outside of the shop.
“What is that?” asked Catharine, as the voices of a gathering crowd grew louder.
Henry looked up from the corner where he remained bent over, rummaging through the papers. Clemmie and Louis started moving toward the front of the shop to investigate, but Hostrupp pulled them back.
“No, no. You will certainly be seen. Most certainly.”
Hostrupp grabbed a long rod that had been leaning in a corner of the backroom. He flicked it up at the ceiling until it hit a knot in the wood. A moment later, the ceiling opened and a ladder came sliding down.
“Up here. Very secret attic from where we can view Myra Lane. Come with me quietly. Very quietly.”
Hostrupp scurried up the ladder with Clemmie and Louis following right behind. Catharine and Henry went next, but Maggie hesitated, looking at Houten. The old man clearly could not climb unassisted.
“Don’t worry about me,” Houten snapped, whacking the ladder with his cane. “Get up there and see what’s happening. Then report back.”
By the time Maggie made it into the attic, covered in old boxes of fabric and frayed ribbons, Hostrupp and the others were huddled around a dusty window facing Myra Lane. Maggie joined them, forcing herself into a gap between Henry and Clemmie. And there she was able to see what had everyone speechless.
It was Francis.
Francis had followed them to Poppel.
rancis stood on the stone platform under Myra Lane’s post clock. He was front and center of the growing Foundling crowd, sandwiched between Comstock and Cyrus who were slyly clutching the sleeves of his striped nightshirt.
At first Maggie thought her cousin was being paraded about as a captive, but she quickly realized he wasn’t being held prisoner―he was being celebrated.
“At last,” Comstock bellowed. “The Van Cortlandt heir has returned to Poppel. Here stands, Francis Casimier Moore, grandson of Clement Clarke Moore―the man we owe a great deal of thanks.”
Smiling cruelly, Cyrus gripped Francis’ sleeve tighter.
“Wait!” a voice roared from the crowd.
A moment later, another Garrison came bounding up to the post clock, each hand bracing the shoulder of two similarly sized bodies.
“What is that you have there, Chatham?” Cyrus hissed, peering down from the platform.
“They say their names are Gardiner and Gertrude,” Chatham replied, yanking the children forward. “They arrived to the Sleigh Pit right after Francis.”
Cyrus twisted his head toward Francis. “Relatives of yours?”
Francis gulped before murmuring, “My cousins.”
The Garrisons promptly cheered and after some persuasion, the Foundlings reluctantly followed suit. Francis didn’t seem to know how to take such a reception, while Gardiner and Gertrude were clearly frightened.
“Francis, Gardiner, and Gertrude―welcome to Poppel!” Comstock exclaimed. “Your arrival has been anticipated for many years.”
Looking overwhelmed, Francis stammered, “What’s Poppel?”
“Your new home,” Cyrus answered foolishly, causing Gertrude to burst into tears and Francis to jump off the platform in a panic. But Comstock and Cyrus grabbed his arms and hauled him back up just as Gardiner sprung forward, attempting to shove the Garrisons away from his older cousin.
The Garrisons had almost controlled the situation when a voice boomed from the other end of Myra Lane.
“Silence!”
Castriot stood near the banquet hall stairwell where McNutt had punched Henry. The mere presence of the Head Garrison caused a sudden shift in the crowd. Everyone watched as Castriot strolled down Myra Lane. He didn’t speak until he was standing between Comstock and Cyrus, blocking Maggie’s view of Francis.
“How dare you scare our guests, Cyrus,” Castriot said before turning to Gardiner and Gertrude. “You have no reason to be frightened. We are very pleased to have you here. Your family and our village have a long and pleasant history. Obviously, you may leave when you wish, but we hope you will stay for a little while.”
Castriot then extended his right arm toward the crowd and a couple of Garrisons appeared, arms overflowing with candy and toys. With their tears now sniffled away, Maggie watched as the twins giddily flocked toward the gifts.
C
astriot moved to the side and Maggie spotted Francis again. She was pleased to see that he wasn’t as easily enticed by the offerings. But Castriot quickly responded to the boy’s hesitation. He swooped down to Francis’ level and whispered into his ear. Castriot and Francis exchanged words quietly.
“What are they saying?” Clemmie grumbled, pressing his face against the dusty window.
Francis and Castriot continued to talk until Castriot finally straightened up. The Head Garrison peeled off his black jacket and placed it over Francis’ nightshirt. Castriot then tousled Francis’ hair in a fatherly manner, leaving the boy with a rather smug grin.
Wearing only an undershirt and high-waisted trousers did not take away Castriot’s fearsomeness. He faced the crowd, hand on Francis’ shoulder, and announced, “The descendants of Oloff and Annette Van Cortlandt have returned to bring Poppel back to its former greatness and ensure its future dominance. I hereby declare that Francis Casimier Moore will be the new Head Garrison. And all of his requests and demands must be obeyed.”
Castriot stared down at the twins who had stopped munching on the slices of yellow cake in their hands. “Gardiner and Gertrude, you will join the Foundlings until you can prove yourself as useful as your cousin, Casimier.”
Two muscular Garrisons came up behind the twins and lifted them away before they could even cry out.
“Margaret Ogden!”
Maggie stiffened at the sound of her name. Her stomach shifted uncomfortably.
“Henry Livingston, Louis Moore, Catharine and Clement Ogden,” Castriot announced. “These other Van Cortlandt descendants have infiltrated our walls in an attempt to destroy Poppel. They must be tracked down and stopped. Any Foundling that is seen harboring these intruders will be locked in the Kelder.” Castriot paused, licked his lips and added, “Forever.”
Krampus: The Three Sisters (The Krampus Chronicles Book 1) Page 11