Steemjammer: The Deeper Truth (12 page)

“Aye, we’re known for many things, but not wanderin’ around unarmed like some mince-headed dobber, so pay attention.”

The short man opened a drawer and removed a metal baton about six inches long.

“This is a stokee,” he said with severity. “Never point it at a person, unless ye mean to knock out their teeth!”

“So that’s what you make groat klonks with, then?” Cobee couldn’t help teasing.

Donell arched an eyebrow but otherwise ignored the comment. “This here, with the iron tip, is the business end, so tah speak. Tah use, ye grip it tight – and I mean
tight
. Get in close and press this catch.”

He pointed it at a green and purple vase resting on a nearby table. With a huff of compressed air, the metal baton shot out with great force, almost doubling its length. The vase shattered, sending a spray of garish ceramic shards into the wall.

“I always hated tha’ ugly thing,” Donell muttered.

“Gaaf!” Cobee said.

“It’s like a miniature crusher,” Will added, “that fits in your pocket!”

“Aye,” Donell grinned. “Ye only have one charge, so make it count. It’ll knock a man cold, if ye aim it right, and yer left with a metal fighting stick.”

He dropped it on his desk and handed Will, Giselle and Cobee each a compressed stokee.

“Speakin’ o’ pockets, mind tha’ it don’t go off in yers. Now, ye need tah be seen, so I want ye handin’ out programs. People will be watchin’, and needless tah say, don’t do anything craicte.”
crazy
.

“We won’t be able to see anything!” Cobee protested.

“Ye’ll see the openin’ ceremony just fine. When the steemgun shoots and the teams rush out, tha’ is when ye’ll make yer way back here. I’ll drive ye personally tah yer Auntie Klazee’s, and, if the Maker wills it, we’ll all go back tah Old Earth!”

With sparkles in his eyes, he looked them over and then glanced at a pocket watch.

“Two minutes,” he said, “and the gates open. Let’s get goin’.”

***

Will, Giselle and Cobee went to a walkway that ran along the top of the stadium behind the highest seats while excited Steemball fans streamed in. They half-heartedly offered programs while mostly staring at the events below. The first two teams rolled to their starting areas, one sporting orange flags and the other blue, ready to race out into the lightly wooded park.

“Clear out!” Will heard a distant, assertive voice shouting from somewhere out in the park. “If you don’t leave this instant, the tournament will not start!”

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 dodged. 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.