Krampus: The Three Sisters (The Krampus Chronicles Book 1) (16 page)

Houten cackled hoarsely. “You think I can’t move around these tunnels, eh? Well, I’m sorry to say that while I’m slower than you Foundlings, this old body can still trudge along. And these nearly blind eyes can still spot when a panel on an empty flour crate is cracked open.”

Ward groaned, realizing that in his hurry he had left the tunnel entrance ajar.

“That little light show you just pulled in the Sleigh Pit won’t go over well,” Houten continued. “You best head back up to Myra Lane unless you want the Garrisons to think you’re aiding the Van Cortlandt descendants. And if you don’t think they’ll eventually figure out their true names as you all just did, you are gravely mistaken.”

Houten’s eyes moved to Maggie and then over to Henry. He raised his crooked finger and pointed at the pair. “It’s like seeing the second coming of Catharine Moore and Sidney Livingston.” Catharine, Clemmie, and Louis came into focus and Houten added, “And those three as well. No doubt from the Van Cortlandt bloodline.”

“What are you saying, Houten?” Ward asked.

Houten strained his eyes in Ward’s direction and smacked his gums as he spoke. “Ward, these intruders are the only hope for Nikolaos of Myra returning to Poppel.”

he Foundlings were sent back up the tunnel to Myra Lane, leaving Henry and the Moore grandchildren with Houten who smelled like peppermint.

Facing the group, Houten planted his cane steadily between his bowed legs.

“It’s been so long since I saw a Van Cortlandt descendant. Mrs. Catharine Moore and Mr. Sidney Livingston were always running around here with young Margaret. Such lively little ducks.”

“You knew my father?” Henry tilted up his top hat, exposing his untidy bronze hair and intrigued expression.

“Sidney? Why, of course, I knew Sidney Livingston. I knew Major Henry, as well. And Major Henry’s uncle, Pierre Van Cortlandt, the great-grandson of Oloff and Annette Van Cortlandt.” Houten looked at Maggie. “And your grandmother, Catharine Taylor Moore, was a descendant of the Van Cortlandt family. Catharine’s grandfather Philip was the great-great grandson of Oloff and Annette Van Cortlandt. And you know who Annette Van Cortlandt was?”

“The daughter of Grace Loockerman―the eldest of the three sisters,” Louis replied as though answering a question in school. The story Maggie had told the other grandchildren was still fresh in his mind.

“Indeed,” Houten nodded. “But there is a portion of the tale I am certain you do not know. After Nicolas Poppelius went to help the Martyrs of Gorkum, the three girls were left with the unlimited time. So Grace, Sarah, Lily, and the Foundlings continued living their extraordinary long lives even after Nicolas disappeared.”

“Disappeared?” Henry repeated.

“It was reported that Nicolas Poppelius as well as eighteen others were mutilated and hanged outside of the town of Brielle in the western part of the Netherlands.”

Maggie let out an abrupt noise at the horrific image.

“Do not distress, young duckling,” Houten reassured. “That is just how the story goes. But it is not so. Nicolas Poppelius rescued those men and fake remains were sent to Belgium where they were appropriately placed in the Church of St. Nicholas. Nikolaos of Myra and those men secretly vanished, but no one knows to where. In the meantime Grace, Sarah, and Lily continued to run Poppel.”

“Until Grace married Jan Loockerman,” Henry said.

“Indeed. But not every sister supported Grace’s decision to leave Poppel. For when one sister gave away her immortality―it was taken from them all.”

“Oh, really. How so?” Catharine hastily asked, clearly disbelieving the story.

But Houten didn’t catch her incredulous tone and continued to explain.

“The Sister Wheels, of course. Nikolaos of Myra gave each sister a wheel. When brought together, the wheels granted unlimited time to those in Poppel. But if one sister left―the gift was broken. When Grace married Jan Loockerman, Sarah supported her―even if that meant giving up their everlasting youth. But Lily did not. Angrily, Lily took her wheel and went in search of other means to not inevitably succumb to death. Meanwhile, Grace and Sarah welcomed old age and passed their Sister Wheels on to Annette Loockerman before she headed to America. Annette eventually gave the two wheels to her eldest son, Stephanus, who continued the tradition of passing them down the Van Cortlandt line, along with the secret of Poppel.”

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.”