Steemjammer: The Deeper Truth (4 page)

“Well now,” the short man beamed, “tha’ is somethin’ I ne’er thought possible!”

“I should have spat in his face,” Will said, confused, “and said no, right?”

“No,” Stefana said, studying him with a look of wonder. “You needed to survive, and you handled that perfectly.” She turned to Donell. “I’ve heard enough. Could you take over?”

“It would be mah pleasure,” he replied, “but ye best explain it tah him.”

Stefana faced Will. “We can’t lie, or we’ve always had great trouble doing so.”

“I managed,” Will said. “And my father could be deceptive.”

“With difficulty. It’s almost impossible for me. However, this doesn’t mean we’ve been stupid all these years. In times of need, we’ve turned to others for help with – how to put it?”

“Put it like it is,” Donell said. “Clan Ogilvy has done yer family’s dirty work for years, and proudly!”

“‘Dirty work?’” Will asked.

Tante Stefana bristled. “That’s not the term I’d use. Some situations require...”

Donell put a firm hand on Will’s arm. “She’s tryin’ tah say this, lad. As ye walk through life, ye sometimes have tah travel down a dark and treacherous road. When ye get forced into such a spot, it helps tah have an ally who knows the ins and outs o’ such a place.

“And that would be Clan Ogilvy! Back on Old Earth we were in a near constant state o’ war with rival clans or the English. And when we moved here-”

“I thought you didn’t like history,” Stefana broke in.

He grimaced, belching loudly. “Aye. Struth.” He faced Will. “This is a chance tah find out what those Raz devils know and maybe, just maybe tah toss a wrench or two in their gears.” He patted an oversized tool of the same name hanging off his belt. “If they’re close tah findin’ that Tracium, we gotta do somethin’.”

Will became very serious as he began to see what they had in mind. “You want me to do some dirty work?”

“Ye won’t be alone.”

“You’re not planning on hurting or kidnapping Bram, are you? As bad as they are, I don’t think I could be a part of that.”

Donell laughed before erupting in a brief coughing fit. “Nay, laddie, yer Auntie Stef talked me out o’ tha’ long ago. For one thing, if Bram goes missin’, tha’s the excuse the Rasmussens need tah storm this place.”

“Also, it goes against our principles,” Stefana added.

“Understood, but I’ll remind ye tha’ the Raz would’ve done terrible things tah Will, even though he’s a boy.”

“There’s more to it. Our family gave its word that this place, the Steem Museum, would be open to all. We seem to have as much trouble breaking our promises as we do lying. People must be safe here.”

“Even obvious enemies?”

“If attacked we can, of course, defend. If Zander were to show up here, that would be different, but so far Bram has not harmed us.”

“But if I work with Donell,” Will guessed, “I’ll have to lie, right?”

Donell shrugged as if to say “so what?”

“Will,” Tante Stefana said gravely, “this is dangerous. No one knows what more deceptive behavior will do to your psyche. Also, each moment you’re with them means they could discover your real identity. No one’s making you do this. It’s your choice.”

He took a moment to think things over, though he realized it wasn’t necessary. Somehow his decision had already been made.

“If we do nothing,” he said, “and they get the Tracium, it’s over. My goot steem must be burned out, anyway. I might as well try.”

Tante Stefana smiled warmly. “You’re very brave. I wish your parents could see you now, and even more, I wish they were here to help us. Don’t rush into this or let emotion cloud your judgment. Seek deeper truth.” 

Chapter 4

THE WHITE FLAG OF SHAME

“At last,” Marteenus whispered to himself excitedly. “I’m actually entering Beverkenhaas!”

After flying back to the Bellevue, Ohio area as quickly as his airship would go, an ecstatic shiver had run down his back as he noticed that no smoke rose from the tall chimney of Beverkenhaas. That meant the fire had died in the night, and no one was there to relight it.

He tied off his airship to a tree, but it had taken him some time to gather the nerve to climb down and peer into Beverkenhaas’s windows. Terrified by some noise, he’d run away but forced himself back.

“There is no smoke,” he assured himself. “Therefore, there is no verltgaat, so he can’t come get me. The people are clearly gone. If I’m wrong, I have my pistol.”

He pulled away a piece of furniture blocking the hole where the front door had been, and something fell off the pile with a loud crash. He froze in panic, but nothing happened. No raging Hendrelmus came running up with a sword to cut him in half. Relaxing, Marteenus laughed at himself and removed another piece.

“Think you’re gonna get in there and take stuff, huh?” said a voice from behind.

Dread overwhelmed him. He froze, fearing a vengeful Henry had materialized after all. Then, he realized it had been a female voice.

He slowly turned to see a large teenage girl eying him suspiciously. With long hair braided into pigtails, a checked shirt, jeans and muddy work boots, she was a great deal taller than Marteenus - and probably much stronger, he realized to his dismay.

“Well, er, you see my dear, I actually live here,” he said with all the charm he could muster.

“Liar,” Jenny Knox stated flatly, seeming to see right through him.

Marteenus scowled more than he’d intended. “That’s not very polite of you. I come from a mannered society, and I’m not used to being confronted with such slander.”

“Just cuz you got a cool English accent and all, don’t think you’re smooth-talking me. Cuz you’re not.”

Marteenus blinked.

“Well,” he said, trying a business-like approach, “this is actually my cousin’s house. I was asked to come watch the place while they’re gone.”

“And steal whatever ain’t nailed down?”

“I am not a thief!”

“What you’re not is a good liar. If you belonged here, they would’ve given you a back door key.”

His mouth opened in protest, but no words would come out. He simply couldn’t think of a comeback.

“Look,” he said, lowering his voice menacingly and opening his coat to reveal the pistol in his belt, “I think it’s you who might be the thief.”

“You don’t scare me,” she said fearlessly. “My brother’s a U.S. Marine. They taught him thirty-four ways to kill a man with his bare hands. He’s only showed me two, but believe me: I’m fast, I’m strong, and if you so much as think about pullin’ that pop-gun, I’ll have your head stickin’ through that wall. And then I’ll get ornery with you!”

“Barbarian!” Marteenus thought, recoiling in horror. “What kind of Amazons do they grow here?”

“Now you just move along,” she continued, slanting her eyes. “Get going, before I have to make you.”

Right then, the hour struck, and even though the fire had gone out, there was still enough steam in the boiler to set off Beverkenhaas’ many clocks. The clanging and ringing so startled Marteenus that he nearly jumped out of his shoes.

The little man found his legs scurrying back to his airship as fast as they could move. As he scrambled up his airship’s rope ladder, he wanted to scream at himself for panicking and running from a girl.

He calmed down quickly. Let her think, he plotted, that she’d scared him away. The barbarian she-wolf wouldn’t stick around forever, he knew, and when she was gone, he could make another attempt.

***

“What took so long?” Angelica asked, trying to hide her irritation. “I thought you were getting a medical exam.”

Donell had sent Will back downstairs to pretend to search for the fictional secret room until seen by Bram, but as he passed the short man’s office, his sister stopped him – and she wasn’t alone. His first cousin - his age with long brown hair that swirled in the back - Giselle Steemjammer gave him a big hug. Before she could ask what had happened, Cobee stepped up.

A second cousin whom they’d met for the first time on coming to this world, he beamed with pride. He looked a little like Will, only his tousled hair was blonde, and he had a touch of the family “bulb” in the tip of his nose. Named Jacobus Steemjammer Vanderslyce, he’d had to change it to Cobee Rensink to avoid detection by the Rasmussens.

“Will,” he said. “We thought you were gedoemd voor zaker!”
Doomed for sure
!

He patted Will’s back while praising him in rapid-fire Dutch that even Giselle couldn’t understand. She didn’t care. She was just glad that he’d somehow survived and made it back, but Angelica didn’t look so happy.

“Where were you?” she demanded.

“I had to tell Tante Stefana what happened,” Will explained.

“Why couldn’t we be there?”

“What did happen?” Giselle added. “I mean with the Raz. How’d you escape?”

Will felt torn. He wanted to tell them, but where should he start? How could he explain what he’d done to survive, especially to his sister?

“Tante Stefana told you not to tell us,” Angelica guessed. “More secrets?”

“No,” he said automatically. “But I need to do something.”

If he told them that Bram had inducted him into the Rasmussen Protectorate, he had no idea how they’d react. Was this, he wondered, how his mom and dad felt when they’d decided not to tell them about Beverkenverlt?

“What do you need to do?” Cobee asked.

“I need,” Will said hesitantly, “to find out if I’ve lost my goot steem.”

“That’s belachalik.”
Ridiculous
. “You escaped. If that wasn’t goot steem, I don’t know what is.”

Will tried to explain but couldn’t. He felt overwhelmed, finding he couldn’t even think where to start.

“Let’s not pressure him,” Giselle said, reading the distress on his face. “Whatever happened, it had to have been terrifying.”

He nodded, grateful for her understanding. “I’ll try, but I do need time to sort it out. I think I got very lucky, and that’s not goot steem, because goot steem has to do with skill, doesn’t it?”

“I suppose,” Cobee said. “No one’s ever really told me what it means – you know, a definition.”

“I have an idea. The arena’s not very far. If we take these back hallways, no one’s likely to see us.”

“The arena?” Angelica said, wrinkling her face in confusion.

***

They quickly made their way to the arena - a gymnasium-like room where people could practice fighting in steeemsuits - and found it deserted. Technically, youths weren’t supposed to be there unsupervised, but Cobee had found that as long as no adults wanted to practice fighting, no one seemed to mind. While Angelica and Giselle found seats, the boys put on steemsuits and came out to the large, wooden floored area.

“Maybe this is a bad idea,” Will said as Cobee attached a flexible, armored hose from his suit to a high-pressure steam pipe in the wall. “Cobee?”

Will felt awkward in the ungainly fighting suit. Made principally of steel, the massive thing made a suit of medieval jousting armor look wimpy in comparison. It was incredibly heavy, with complex gadgetry and a tank on the back to hold a reservoir of steam. This steam went to piston-like devices and large gears on various parts of the suit that roughly mimicked the main human muscles, so people could walk and fight in the armor. They could also lift and swing an enormous amount of weight.

Will’s family had an old rusted steemsuit in their barn in Ohio. His father had tried teaching him how it worked, but it had been way too large for the boy to get it to do much. This current suit was also a little too big, making him wonder if he could get it to move at all.

“Hey, Cobee!” he shouted.

His voice resonated inside the steel helmet, and he realized as Cobee hooked up his own suit that no one could hear him. Somehow he had to activate the speaking system which would transfer his voice to a diaphragm and speaking cone built into the helmet.

“Ready?” Cobee asked, and Will could hear his cousin’s distorted voice.

“No,” he said, frantically feeling around for a button or switch that would allow him to be heard.

“I’ll take that to mean yes. Steem on!”

Cobee turned a valve, and with a mighty
hiss
, Will’s suit stiffened. Will knew he was supposed to do something, but what?

“Remember what I told you,” Cobee warned, closing in.

“I don’t,” Will said uselessly.

“
En garde
!”

The blunted weapons that the men used had been put away, so they were just going to hit each other with armored punches and kicks. Will remembered that but little else from Cobee’s brief instructions.

BANG! Cobee walked up and punched him in the head. He felt nothing except frustration, because he couldn’t even get the suit to move. Realizing something was wrong, Cobee began repeating his instructions.

Feeling flustered, Will listened as best he could while at last making sense of things. He managed to take a lurching step forward while making his arms rise and fall.

“Watch out!” Cobee cried and had to grab him to keep him from tipping over.

“I think I have my answer,” Will said.

Curious about what had really happened to him on Texel Island, he’d hoped to make a steemsuit come to life, like others in his family had done. Surely, he thought, if he could make one of these things work, he still had his goot steem. His complete awkwardness, however, indicated to him that he must have lost it.

“Cobee, we can stop,” Will said.

His cousin hadn’t heard a word. “Here I come!”

While Cobee punched him in the chest, Will struggled to keep from tipping over. Now Cobee tapped Will on his helmet, trying to be funny, but it was only annoying. Hadn’t his grandfather used one to hold off a small army of Shadovecht, buying time for the family to escape? Don’t give up, he thought. The suit was too big, which was part of the reason he was having trouble controlling it.

“This is something you got to feel, Will,” he remembered his father telling him. “Don’t think through each step. Just let them happen.”

There were so many steps. Just to walk, he had to use his legs and feet to press control plates, to make the suit’s legs mimic a natural stride. The net effect was like walking, but the process was very different. It took a lot of concentration to take clumsy, slow steps, and he had to grab the wall to keep from falling.

Cobee hit him playfully on the helmet.

Hitting was also difficult. He had to press the control plates just right with his arms and hands to make steam release and launch the armored fists. Aiming was a challenge, and blocking was even harder.

Again, Cobee whacked him in the helmet. It was definitely annoying now. Will still hadn’t figured out how to use the steemsuit’s speech system, so he could tell him to stop. Deciding to ram Cobee, Will took a step but stumbled. The leg shot out way too far, and he had to jerk the other leg up to keep from doing a split. Now he was stuck running, and he crashed into the far wall. Only the fact that his legs were hopelessly tangled in the steam hose kept him from tipping over.

Cobee lifted his visor to laugh, but from out of nowhere came a blur. WHAM! Cobee was struck in the back and sent reeling, almost like he was tap dancing, trying to stay afoot. His visor snapped shut, and he stumbled and fell with a great crash.

He got up but again was hit from behind. This new attacker also wore an armored steamsuit, and with the visor shut, they couldn’t tell who it was. He clobbered Cobee with a steel fist, over and over. Before Cobee could recover or get his arms up, the assailant kicked him mercilessly.

Still on the floor, Cobee landed a hit. But that exposed him to a counter-attack. Blocking the next two strikes, it looked like Cobee might mount a comeback, but the attacker landed a flurry of wicked blows.

Though Cobee dodged this way and that, the attacker kept smacking him. HISS! Cobee’s suit shut down and froze up, and an embarrassing white flag popped out of his helmet.

A few days earlier, Will had witnessed a duel between Clyve Harrow, the high-ranking Rasmussen who’d interrogated him, and a man named Zeepvat. Their suits, made for dueling, didn’t surrender like this, but the boys were wearing practice armor.

To avoid excessive damage and people getting hurt, each practice steemsuit was fitted with a smash-detector. Once it had recorded a certain number of hits, the suit cut off steam and surrendered, causing a small white flag to pop up. With his armor disabled, Cobee was stuck, unable to move.