by John Eubank
From the frightened look on Angelica’s face, Donell realized he had to say more.
“Nay, lass, he’s not goin’ back tah that horrid place,” he explained sympathetically. “There’ll be no danger, I promise, and ye’ll see him soon, safe and sound. Ye have tah trust me on this.”
Will knew what Donell was attempting, but it frustrated him.
“It’s not right, Donell,” he argued. “Our parents withheld information from us, and that didn’t go well at all. I know what Angelica and the others feel like, being kept in the dark, and I can’t be a part of it.”
Donell sighed. “Ye said yerself there’s been no time. Will, o’ course ye’ll fill them in, but it’s already Wednesday, and I have no sense of how long your task will take. Ye’ve got tah get on it, now, and they can only help by trustin’ me and lettin’ ye go.”
Reluctantly, Giselle and Cobee nodded. With a brave face, Angelica stepped up and took Will’s hand in hers.
“Promise you’ll be safe?” she said.
“Yes,” Will said, hugging her. “Donell will be close and step in if anything goes wrong, right?”
“Everything will be fine,” the short man assured. “Now get movin’, ye kids. We have tah get crackin’.”
Giselle and Cobee were good sports and started to go, but Angelica hesitated. Will found it heartbreaking as he realized, unless their parents could miraculously be found, he was the only member of her immediate family left. To her credit, she found her strength, gave him an assuring nod, and followed the others down the hallway.
“Lad, do ye understand?” he heard Donell saying a moment later, realizing he hadn’t been able to concentrate on something the short man had been trying to explain.
“No,” Will said. “I wasn’t listening, sorry.”
“Are ye all right?”
“Fine. Got a lot on my mind, that’s all.”
“Fair enough.” Donell gave him a slip of paper. “This is a map. Take Bram here, and see what happens.”
“‘See what happens?’”
“Yer Auntie Stef said tah keep ye from havin’ tah mislead as much as possible. Och!”
He turned his head to cough violently.
“Honestly,” he continued, “this honesty thing – I’ve never understood it. Trickery’s a part o’ life! The great Greek heroes from Old Earth were known for their ability tah use sneakiness tah win.”
“I know,” Will admitted. “I remember in home schooling, neither of my parents could explain that, how they were great heroes but also liars.”
“Liars? Och, tha’s such a strong word, lad. Look, suppose ye hide from a monster? Aren’t ye misleadin’ it intah thinkin’ yer not there? Is that really lyin’, and if it is, how is hidin’ from certain death wrong?”
“I asked my dad a similar question,” Will admitted. “His answer made no sense.”
“He said not tah hide? Tah get eaten?”
“He said to hide but always keep in mind the deeper truth.”
Donell blinked. “Huh?”
“See? There wasn’t a day that went by when he didn’t talk about that - deeper truth.”
Wincing, the short man scratched his face. “If there’s different forms of truth, what’s a lie?”
“My cousin, Giselle, wonders the same thing.”
“Yer not bein’ too helpful, lad.”
“I know. He never said what deeper truth was. I guess he somehow expected us to magically get it.
“I realize now why my parents hid our background from us – and why we all tried to hide our steem contraptions from the others on Old Earth. Maybe it also harmed us. After all, how many years did it take him to rebuild the verltgaat machine?”
Donell sighed. “Yer Auntie Stef told me something’s botherin’ ye greatly, that ye had tah lie to escape those verminous Raz. Now I’m startin’ tah make sense o’ it.
“Will, how is lyin’ tah the Raz bad? They’re evil. You beat evil any way ye can, like fightin’ fire with fire. That’s good, isn’t it?”
A number of thoughts tangled in Will’s mind, with the exception of an answer he found satisfying. Evil was never good, or so he felt strongly. Then, how could he explain what he’d done?
“Look,” Donell pressed, “if yer own father misled ye and yer sister tah keep ye safe, how could it be wrong tah lie tah the Raz? They’d kill ye as soon as wink!”
The conflicting thoughts seemed to tighten in Will’s mind until he felt he had to say something or burst.
“It’s not just a lie,” he blurted. “It’s worse. I denied my name.”
The short man’s brows furrowed with concern. “Och, now I see.” He took a moment before proceeding delicately. “Ye fear this somehow has caused ye harm?”
Will nodded.
“Well now, lad,” Donell said, wrinkling his face as he pushed his brain for insight, “this is beyond mah ken.” Understanding. Then, his eyes brightened. “What’s done is done, aye? Water o’er the mill wheel, as yer grandfather used tah say. So, damaged or not, wouldn’t ye feel better if ye could strike back at those Raz scum?”
At first, Will’s only thought was “how?” How could he be of any use against their enemies if his goot steem was ruined? But Donell’s words stirred something inside him, and he a feeling of vigor stirred inside his body.
“Yeah,” he said.
Donell clamped his shoulder. “All right, then. Will, there’s no dishonor in survivin’. Quite the opposite. Ye’ve done somethin’ no one else ever has. Ye not only got out o’ that foul pit in one piece, ye’ve earned the confidence of a major Rasmussen, the son and heir to their verminous High Blood-Sucker, Zander!”
Will sighed, realizing where this was leading. “Great, more lying.”
“I thought ye wanted tah hit back! Look, ye Steemjammers could afford tah be all principled back when ye held yer main workshop, but when tha’ fell, ye came upon hard times. Ye dinna have that luxury anymore. Can’t ye see? We need tah take advantage o’ this situation while we can.”
Will looked away, thinking. “I already lied to save my life, so what would another matter?”
“Nay, lad. Ye did what ye had tah do, not only tah save yer own hide, which was worthy enough, but tah save much more. Have ye already forgotten? If the Raz put ye tah openin’ world holes, all o’ Beverkenverlt would fall under their stinkin’ bootheels!”
Will felt a little better. “What do you have in mind?”
“Tha’s more like it,” Donell grinned, tapping the piece of paper in Will’s hand. “I stayed up most o’ the night workin’ out this wee bit o’ trickery. Tah be safe, it’ll come to ye as a surprise. Whatever happens, go along with it, but take a deep breath and think before ye react. Do ye follow me?”
Will felt his heart pounding. He nodded, even though he was more torn than ever. Again, a grown-up was refusing to tell him what was really going on, but he felt he had no choice but to trust him.
“Good,” Donell said. “Oh, ye’ll be needin’ a clue, too. Third hangar. Remember tha’.”
***
Peering through a gap in the junk blocking the front door of Beverkenhaas, Marteenus also felt his heart beating, like it was trying to pound its way out of his chest. He feared the Shadovecht lurking somewhere behind him, but at least he’d just found the source of the frightening noise. A humorless-looking woman with some sort of badge in her hand stood on the other side of the clutter that filled the front doorway, knocking on it.
She wore a gray dress, and her long hair was stretched back into a tight bun on her head. He knew by her dark skin that she had African heritage, whatever “Africa” was. On Beverkenverlt, there were people who looked like her, but being different-looking there meant little. He’d discovered here on Old Earth that looking dissimilar - having a different skin color or strange hair – could be an issue with certain people.
Then, her badge caught his eye. Though he understood little of Old Earth’s customs, he knew that breaking into other peoples
’ houses was a “crime” punishable by being put in a fortress-like dungeon for months or even years. Merely possessing a stolen pistol, like the one in his pocket, could get him locked up. Hiding it in a drawer, he stepped up to where she could see him through the gap.
“This is private property,” he said, hoping she’d leave.
The health inspector, Jane Gables, was undaunted. “Are you the childrens’ father or legal guardian?”
“What?”
She repeated herself.
“Oh,” he said. “I’m their uncle, Martin.”
It was how he called himself here, having learned that people on this planet found Marteenus a peculiar name.
She slanted her eyes, trying to peer inside the house. “Is everything all right?”
“Fine. Wonderful. We had a little – well, the thing is...”
“Something blasted through your front door.”
“A slight vehicular mishap. No real damage.”
“No real damage? It looks like a tornado hit.”
“They’re taking care of it, my brother and the family. They’re looking for someone to, um, fix it.”
“That’s a Building and Safety issue, anyway. I’m here about a missing inspection.”
A noise came from within Beverkenhaas, causing Marteenus to jump with fright. He scurried through the gap in the clutter and crawled around to hide behind Jane.
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
He wasn’t sure, save that if a Shadovecht was coming, it might pause long enough to take her out and let him escape. When he realized no such event was happening, he stood up, dusting off his clothing while attempting to salvage his dignity.
“Nothing,” he said, forcing a laugh. “I’m very excitable. They say I make people nervous.”
“Look,” she said sternly, “this house has a water well problem.” She handed him a folder full of papers. “See that the owners get this, and have them call or write me as soon as possible.”
“Of course,” Marteenus said, taking the folder, happy that she seemed about to leave.
She started to go but found herself giving his strange hair a severe looking over. “You do realize there are products for that, don’t you?”
“Products?”
“Relaxers, gels, and so on.”
His face twisted with confusion, and he absent-mindedly patted the buttons on his brightly colored coat. “There’s something I should sew on – to relax?”
“Never mind, sir,” she said, giving up and heading to her car. “Have a nice day.”
***
“That’s it?” Waverly Norman pouted. “No handcuffs? A folder of papers, and she’s driving away?”
Ron was gone, having taken her mother to a medical checkup, so she’d risked coming out of the basement. Through a window she’d watched the health inspector confront this odd new character who’d appeared across the street - a short man in green with even stranger hair than the others. Frustrated, she gritted her teeth and started to go give them a piece of her mind. Then, she recalled the vicious purple creatures and hesitated.
Had that been real? Up until today she’d been convinced of her husband’s preposterous story, but now she wasn’t so sure. Since when, she asked herself, did men from other planets have hair that stuck out to the side? She headed back to the basement for now, but if she didn’t see convincing proof soon that these really were space aliens, she was going to take action.
Something caught her eye, and she glanced out the window before descending the steps. Was it her imagination, she wondered, or was that preposterous igloo starting to melt?
***
Unnerved by the health inspector’s appearance, Marteenus decided against searching the secret room with the pit for now. It was probably just a trap, he told himself. Recovering the pistol, he went back to the basement to see if he could find a hidden panel, instead.
“Aha!” he said gleefully after checking the wall near the boiler, and his knuckles rapped on a hollow spot.
He tugged on objects and pressed anything that might serve as a secret button. Distracted, he didn’t notice a subtle clicking sound. A panel opened. THWUNK! A heavy, double-bladed axe came falling out of the hidden compartment and chopped off the tip of his shoe.
He screamed. Standing there terrified with his eyes pressed shut, he wasn’t sure if he could feel his foot or not. Daring to look, he saw to his relief that his toes were all intact. Whether this had been a deliberate trap or just a carelessly placed weapon, Beverkenhaas was dangerous.
Back upstairs, he studied the main floor and became alarmed as he realized he’d missed something obvious. The shattered door, broken furniture and many other signs pointed to one conclusion: someone or something had forced an entry, and there’d been a rather serious melee.
Had a Shadovecht, he wondered, attacked? One seemed trapped in that pit, still giving off a fear aura, but surely the Rasmussens would have attacked with several. And that, he realized, meant catastrophe.
“No!” Marteenus groaned.
He bit his lip and grabbed a rail to steady himself. His mind seethed with despair as thoughts clarified.
“Shadovecht,” he said miserably. “Fighting? That can only mean one thing. Rasmussens have already been here.”
His next thought was so dreadful he couldn’t voice it. If Rasmussens had invaded with Shadovecht, he realized that had to mean they’d taken everything of value, including the verltgaat machine. Or had they?
Looking at the destruction, he had to conclude they’d killed or kidnapped Hendrelmus and his family while taking their contraptions. Even worse, he could imagine those leering Rasmussens with the verltgaat machine in their possession, laughing at him and never intending to bring him home or pay him so much as one copper coin of the reward they’d promised.
He’d lost. Now he was trapped in this horrid world forever. Overwhelmed with depression, he crept out, trudging dejectedly back to the airship.
“Maybe they’ll value my effort,” he told himself on the verge of tears. “I risked everything for them! Surely they’ll remember and offer me at least some comfort. They owe me.”
He wished he could believe it.
***
“Hey, Sleeb!”
Deep in a tangle of mazelike service corridors on the Steem Museum’s first floor, Will thought it was about time Bram found him – only this wasn’t the young Rasmussen. Coming down a dark hallway, Bram’s green-tinted friend stepped into the weak lantern light, piling on Dutch insults too fast to him to understand.
“Otis,” Will said, remembering his name while recoiling from his pungent bad breath. “Haven’t you ever heard of a toothbrush?”
“A what?” the green boy snarled, switching to English while attempting to intimidate him with a scowl.
“Never mind. I need to see Bram.”
Otis called down the hallway. “Simon, get over here.”
To Will’s dismay, another of Bram’s cronies who’d been particularly insulting the other day, came up to join Otis. Simon was fairly large, but Will thought he could take him, if it came to that.
“You’ll talk to Bram,” Otis scoffed, shoving Will at his friend, “when we’re done with you!”
Realizing the large boy was about to shove him into a wall, Will drew on a trick his father had taught him and spun. The big kid’s hands slid past him. Will kicked him behind his knee while pushing his chest. Off balance, he toppled into Otis, and they tumbled to the floor.
“That’s it!” Otis howled, getting up hotly and pulling back his sleeves. “One dead sleeb, ripe for pulping! Grab his arms, Simon, while I flatten his face!”
Realizing he couldn’t take on both of them, Will twisted out of Simon’s grasp and ran. From his innate sense of navigation, he was able to sprint down the dark stretches and make turns neatly, while the others slowed and sometimes bumped into walls. Still, they managed to keep up, and then, the dimly lit hallway in front of Will suddenly filled with shadow,
blocked.
“What’s this?” said a familiar voice. It was Bram. Lockwood stood behind him.
“Killing sleebs,” Otis huffed, coming up behind Will and grabbing him. “Wanna piece of him?”
“I found it,” Will told Bram.
The young Rasmussen’s face lit up with anticipation. “About time.” He studied his cronies with a sour face. “Otis, what are you doing?”
With a hurt expression on his face, he released Will.
“Hit him,” Bram ordered Simon, who grinned malevolently as he slugged Otis hard in the stomach.
“Ow!” he yelled, bending over in pain. Then, he kicked Simon in the leg.
“Hey!” Simon shouted.
“Shut up,” Bram hissed. “Go beat each other to a pulp outside.”
They left sullenly, with Bram rolling his eyes at them. Will wondered if they were really going to go outside and follow his orders to the letter. It seemed possible.
“Well?” Bram said impatiently. “Where?”
Will nodded at a hallway. “This way.”
***
“Here,” Will said a moment later.
They stood in a dark, seldom-used main floor hallway. He’d memorized Donell’s map and was sure this was the right spot, but there were no doors. Tapping the walls, they found no evidence of a secret door, either.
“Are you sure?” Bram doubted. “We searched this area before.”
“Well, let’s try again,” Will said cheerfully.
They tapped and ran their fingers along surfaces, trying to feel for bumps or gaps. Lockwood produced a small wooden club from his coat to rap on the wall, but they got no hollow sounds.
“Stevens, if you’re wrong,” Bram threatened, “if this is some sort of joke-”
“No, it’s here,” Will interrupted.
But was it? He ran the map details through his head.
“It’s past that turn, on this wall,” he pointed. “How about some light?”
Lockwood pulled a candle stub from somewhere deep within his large coat and lit it. Great, Will thought, a blank wall. Then, a hissing sound came from above.