by John Eubank
A dozen whimsical flying machines hovered over the playing grounds. Some were sausage-shaped, two-man dirigibles with pedal-drives that turned small propellers, and the rest were powerless hot air balloons that had drifted in. The occupants had snagged trees with looped ropes and were hoping to watch the tournament up close.
“Clever sneaks,” Cobee laughed. “You can’t really blame them, though. We can’t see everything from way over here, and those are the best seats in the place!”
In a fast, one-man airship powered by an expensive, light-weight steam engine, Robert Axworthy flew around shouting at the aerialists through a megaphone. When it became clear none were leaving, he closed in on one from above. Reaching down from his gondola with a thin sword, he sliced open the top of a balloon.
The others cut their ropes and drifted away, while the ones who could pedal did so quickly. Workers in a steemwagon quickly escorted the sagging balloon and its occupants to safety. With cheers from the crowd, Axworthy dropped a yellow and black striped banner, signally that the opening ceremony could start.
“We can’t see anything here,” Cobee said.
He moved down the railing looking for a better view of events below. Giselle followed, but Will hadn’t heard him. Seeing that Tante Stefana was walking out on the field, he craned his neck to watch and didn’t notice that they’d moved. The crowd quieted down.
“Welcome to the annual New Amsterdam Steemball Tournament,” Tante Stefana shouted through a megaphone, “refereed by Robert Waldo Axworthy and hosted by the Steem Museum and Steemjammer family.”
Strong applause broke out among the crowd. Several of the tall, slender men in bowler hats stood nearby, Will noticed, but they didn’t clap at all.
“This is the twentieth anniversary of the new, weight-adjustable ball,” Stefana continued, “created by my father, Ricardus Steemjammer.”
Again there was strong applause. This time, Will noticed the men in bowler hats clapped half-heartedly. He got a bad feeling in his gut, but then he saw a low, squat steemwagon on the field. In the back sat the bronze steemball, with all three compartments open.
As workers loaded several heavy bronze cylinders, filling the cavities to bring the ball up to its full one-ton weight, Will had an epiphany. Tante Stefana had just said his grandfather had made that ball. After the disaster at Beverkenfort, no one had been able to find the Tracium, including his father.
Hidden in plain sight. Could it really be what he was thinking?
“Hidden in plain sight!” he heard a whispered hiss, almost like an echo in his mind.
To his surprise, he saw Bram standing just a few feet away, staring at the field. The young Rasmussen seemed mesmerized as he watched the workers screwing the lids tightly on the ball. Turning away from Will, he whispered something to a man in a bowler hat, who took off quickly.
“Oh, there you are, Stevens,” Bram said as if nothing had happened, turning and appearing to notice Will.
***
“Where’s Will?” Giselle said moments later.
She and Cobee turned their heads, but a large vendor cart filled with steemtoys and pennants had been rolled over. It blocked their view, so they couldn’t see him.
“Well, well,” said a snide voice. “If it isn’t the Stevens girl. I see you still can’t afford a decent pair of shoes.”
Giselle snapped her head and saw a tall girl with a wide, toothy grin staring down at her. Zylph Rasmussen stood uncomfortably close, and Giselle found herself staring at the girl’s bone white hair and black forelock.
“Where’s your little sister?” Zylph asked. “I almost always see you two together.”
Giselle glanced around, about to panic. Not only was Will nowhere to be seen, several of the men in bowler hats stood nearby, clasping their furled umbrellas.
“Zylph Rasmussen,” Giselle said, hoping the danger she felt was only imaginary. “What interest would you have in her?”
“Now, now,” the tall girl said. “Don’t you think we should find her? Maybe your cousin knows where she is. I saw Will walking away just now. Why don’t I show you where he went?”
“Cousin?”
Zylph laughed, and it sent a shiver down her spine. “Did I say that? Brother, cousin – so easy to mix up.”
Giselle tensed, and she noticed Cobee also seemed very nervous. The men in bowler hats had moved closer, glowering at her.
***
“Bram,” Will said, trying to sound calm, “I thought you hated Steemball.”
“I do,” Bram smiled brightly, “but I wanted to tell you the good news right away, oh suddenly gaaf one!”
Will tensed but tried not to show it. He’d never seen Bram so cheerful.
“My father was very pleased with the gift,” the young Rasmussen continued. “When I mentioned your part in it, he was most impressed.”
Lies, Will knew, but he tried not to let his disgust show on his face.
“You’ve been officially adopted,” Bram said magnanimously, “and are now a member of the Rasmussen family!”
Will felt his knees weaken. He’d been told that the Raz would take days to figure out it was a trick. Had they managed to see through it this fast?
“You look unhappy,” Bram said.
“I’m confused,” Will said. “All this over a chunk of metal?”
“Yes, Stevens. You’re to be given full status. Father’s even going to allow you to dye a forelock! I’m to consider you a cousin or maybe even my blood brother. You get to change your name. You’ll be Will Rasmussen.”
Will’s brain reeled. Run, he told himself. But he couldn’t. Not yet.
“Speechless, are you?” Bram said, clasping his back. “Don’t worry, I would be, too.”
“This is amazing,” Will said honestly, as the level of Bram’s lie truly did amaze him.
“There’s a celebration planned at Texel. You’re a hero to the whole family now, and they want to meet you. A locomobile is just outside. What are you waiting for?”
He grabbed Will by the arm and led him toward an exit. Unsure what to do, Will noticed Lockwood closing in, and he found himself walking along. He had to stop. If they got him in a vehicle, he’d never be seen again.
“I feel ill,” Will said, stopping.
“It will pass” Bram said, tugging his arm. “This is the best day of your life.”
“No, really, I’m gonna throw up.”
It was true. He was so scared his stomach felt like it was tied up in knots. Making a face and leaning over, he wondered if he really would vomit.
Looking under his arm, he saw the crowd cheer about something happening on the field. No one noticed his predicament, and he was frightfully close to a dark stairway leading down and out of the stadium.
Groaning, Will put a hand on the wall to steady himself. Lockwood grabbed his shoulder.
“Now or never,” thought Will, sliding a hand into his pocket.
Jerking out the stokee, he spun and jabbed. Compressed air drove the steel cylinder right into the center of the big man’s chest.
Struck in a cluster of nerves called the solar plexus, Lockwood’s eyes bugged open in a stunned expression, and he fell over backwards. Before Bram could react, Will slugged the young Raz as hard as he could, right in the face.
Stumbling back into the wall, Bram glared, hissing, “How’d you know?”
Will threatened with the small metal baton, but Bram only laughed.
“We have a small army closing in,” he bragged. “Time to finish what we started eleven years ago.”
“Murderer!” Will growled, ready to strike.
Bram’s face twisted. “It’s me who could’ve died, Steem-failure, from that nasty trick of yours, but it didn’t work. Now we have everything. You, your sister and cousins - and the real Tracium. Only a complete lunatic would hide it in a steemball!”
Will realized Bram was talking to buy time so that Raz agents could close in. He swung the extended stokee at Bram’s face, but he dodge
d. The metal club struck the wall with a clang, flying out of Will’s hand.
“My turn!” Bram shouted.
He whisked a small metal box from a pocket. It opened with a pop, and Bram suddenly had a damp white rag in his hand, which he jabbed at Will’s face. Will dodged, noticing a strong medicinal odor.
Will blocked the next jab and backed into the wall, focused on keeping that rag away from his face. He knew that if he breathed the vapors, he’d pass out.
“It’s over, Wilhelmus!” Bram jeered, glaring with hatred.
Again he jabbed, but Will blocked the deadly rag, weakened by a mere whiff of it.
“Help!” he shouted, but the roar of the crowd was too loud for anyone to hear.
“Scream all you want, you cheating sleeb!” Bram taunted, jabbing again. “What happened to that Steem-fail honor, Will? I thought you Steam-fails were too good to lie.”
Instead of jabbing, Bram went in low, grappled Will’s legs, and dropped him to the floor. He got on top, holding Will down and slowly forcing the rag to his face. Will struggled desperately to push him away. Still, the rag inched closer.
“Know why I really hate you?” Bram sneered. “You made me like you. You denied your own name to get at us.”
“Sucks, doesn’t it,” Will grunted, “to have your own poison poured down your throat!”
With a burst of strength, Will shoved him off. Bram got to his feet, ready to jab, but he looked with horror at his hand. It was empty.
In the scuffle, Will had snagged the rag from him. He pressed forward, ready to smother Bram with it, but a strong hand grabbed him. It was Lockwood, who’d recovered. Will shoved the chemical-soaked rag onto his nose and mouth. His eyes glazed over as he passed out.
Bram grabbed Will’s wrist and began shoving the rag toward his face. Flinging the rag away, Will shoved him back, and they faced each other, panting and glaring. Bram made fists and held them in a classic boxer’s pose.
“I’ve been trained by the best, Steem-fail,” he threatened. “You’re going down.”
Will blocked his jabs and saw his right cross coming, dodging it easily.
“Liar,” Will said. “You weren’t trained by my dad!”
Faking a jab, Will’s right hook snaked out fast, striking Bram on the jaw. Before he could recover, Will slugged him again and again. Will drove him back into the wall. Blood streamed from both Bram’s nostrils, and he slid down, badly dazed.
Will picked up the stokee and raised it high, wanting to finish Bram off. Before he could swing, however, he recalled the horror he felt learning about the invasion of Beverkenfort – at wondering how anyone could kill helpless people. Stunned and only half conscious, Bram groaned, and Will realized he couldn’t do it.
“You get to live,” Will said, “because you cured me.”
“Will, run!” someone cried.
Turning, he saw six men of the men in bowler hats battling people in Steem Museum overalls. He realized Donell must have had them hiding nearby, watching. If not for them, the men in bowlers – clearly Rasmussen agents - would have already captured him.
Sharp spikes came from the tips of their unfurled umbrellas, which they jabbed like spears. Donell’s men were being overwhelmed.
An agent stabbed a man in the leg, and he staggered back, toppling to the floor. The spike tips were drugged. Fixing Will with intense, dark eyes, the agent cocked his arm and charged.
Chapter 11
A FIN!
Moments earlier, bells had sounded, and a string of brass nozzles shot steam into the air along the front of the stadium seating. This created tall curtains of billowing white vapor, so the fans and crews couldn’t see the striped steemwagon going out to hide the one ton bronze ball somewhere in the middle of the park.
The nozzles stopped, and in moments the vapor was gone. With a signal from Axworthy in his small airship, Stefana shot off a blast from a steemgun. The crowd cheered wildly, and the teams surged out onto the field.
Way up high in the seats, the agents in bowler hats began closing in on Giselle and Cobee. Zylph, who was next to them, made a move. Giselle heard a pop and saw something white in her hand.
Trained in combat by her father, Deetricus, Giselle fought instinctively, blocking with her left arm while reaching into her dress pocket and grasping the stokee.
Someone grabbed her from behind. Startled, she accidentally touched the clasp. As luck would have it, it was pointed backwards and tore through her pocket, shooting right into the gut of the Rasmussen agent who’d seized her.
He yelped in pain and fell over backwards, but Zylph, who was tall and very strong, pressed the smelly white rag closer to Giselle’s face. She grabbed Zylph’s wrist and pushed, but it was no good. The rag slowly closed, and she began to feel light-headed from the fumes.
“Cobee!” she screamed, but she saw a blur to her side indicating he had problems of his own.
“Just give in,” Zylph hissed menacingly. “It’s over, Giselle Steem-failure.”
Her words angered Giselle, and she slugged Zylph in the nose. It bought a few more precious seconds, but the tall girl pressed down with the noxious rag even harder. Reaching for the stokee to use as a club, Giselle found that her hand had gone into the wrong pocket, and she felt something small and hard. Unable to think of anything else, she pulled it out and dropped it down the front of Zylph’s blouse.
“What the...” Zylph sneered and then screamed with fright.
The small tortoise, Velocitus, scrambled around as best it could inside her shirt. Confused and not particularly happy that it was sliding further down, the reptile wiggled its little feet with surprising speed, scratching her skin with its claws.
Caught by surprise and imagining that it was a poisonous scorpion or tarantula, Zylph panicked. With a loud shriek, the rag flew out of her hand, and she jumped up and down trying to shake the thing out of her blouse.
“Help!” Cobee cried, and Giselle just heard him over the roar of the cheering crowd.
Two strong Rasmussen agents had him by either arm, dragging him toward the stairs.
***
Nearby, a poisoned umbrella-spike streaked in fast at Will. Only years of Henry’s intensive training saved him, as he reacted without thinking and parried the incoming weapon with the stokee. Unconcerned, the Rasmussen agent drew back his arm and jabbed again and again. Each time Will parried, but the agent drove him steadily back.
It couldn’t be a real umbrella, Will thought, as the heavy weapon knocked the blocking stokee out of his hand. The agent jabbed with the tip, faster and faster, and Will just managed to back out of the way. Then, he hit the stadium wall.
“No place to run, boy,” the agent grinned.
He started to jab, but there came a sickening thud. The agent jerked as if struck by some invisible force. Eyes glazing over, he dropped his weapon and crumpled to floor. As he fell, a short, bearded man in a kilt was revealed: Donell Ogilvy had clobbered him from behind with a sledgehammer.
Another agent came up. A drugged spike shot out the tip of his weapon, which he brandished menacingly.
“Well, isn’t that just like a Raz scum,” Donell growled, “tah bring an umbrella tah a sledgehammer fight!”
He hefted his substantial voormaaker and glared fiercely. The agent stabbed, but the short man was surprisingly fast and side-stepped it easily.
“A FIN!” he bellowed.
The sledgehammer slammed into the agent’s hip. He howled with pain and fell, too hurt to be of any more concern. Donell dragged Will away.
“I told ye tah stick together!” he barked. “Where are they?”
***
Over by a stairwell, Zylph ripped off a button in her effort to get the hideous thing out of her blouse. Reaching in, she at last managed to grab the wiggling creature and fling it away – right into Giselle’s open hand.
“Thank you!” she cried brightly.
Tucking Velocitus back into her pocket, she turned to pursue the agents who
’d just dragged Cobee down the steps. As she reached the top of the stairwell, she sensed danger. Instinct told her to step aside, which she did. Zylph, who’d recovered quickly, had been charging recklessly at her back. Unable to stop and with no one in front of her, she tumbled down the stairs.
She came to a stop on the first landing and yelped, clutching a twisted ankle. As Giselle ran past, the Rasmussen girl could only glare helplessly.
***
In the open area under the stadium seats, Giselle came out of the stairwell and saw agents dragging Cobee toward an exit. He bit one on the hand and struggled to break free, but they were too strong. Then, a squat shape appeared in the next stairwell as they went by, and a blur of motion struck one of the agents.
“A FIN!” a familiar voice roared.
The agent crumpled to the floor, but the other one jerked Cobee back. He pointed the razor-sharp spike on the tip of his umbrella at the boy’s throat.
“That’s close enough,” the agent threatened.
Donell took a step, but the agent tensed, ready to stab. Slowly, he dragged Cobee toward an exit.
“Cobee,” Donell said, “are ye forgettin’ something?”
Almost frozen with terror, Cobee had no idea what he meant.
“Cobee,” Donell urged, “the ugly vase?”
“Shut it, shorty,” the agent threatened, “or I’ll stick him!”
“Cobee!” Donell shouted. “Pocket!”
The boy’s eyes opened wide as he finally understood. While the agent tightened his grip, he slowly pulled out the stokee and aimed it at the spike-tipped umbrella.
The stokee snapped open, and the agent gawked as his weapon went flying out of his hands. Cobee wiggled free from his grasp and dodged away.
“A FIN!” Donell roared, and with a flash of the sledgehammer, the agent went down.
Giselle ran over, joined by Will, who’d fallen behind and was only now catching up.
“Thank goodness,” Giselle said. “We’re all here.”