Steemjammer: Through the Verltgaat (18 page)

Chapter
17

Steemball and pofferjees

“You didn’t miss much,” Cobee explained. “They let us in early at the Commissary, so we already got lunch.”

He led Will hurriedly to the Steem Museum’s factory section, a sprawling series of foundries and workshops. They had to shield their eyes as an enormous crucible of white hot metal was poured into ingots, and soon they reached the high-ceilinged shop that Apprentices and Youth Volunteers were allowed to use. Dozens were there, using their lunch break to tinker on their latest projects, almost all of which were for Steemball. Will looked around in awe.

“This is our steemtrap,” Cobee explained, pointing at a large, rugged, unfinished wheeled vehicle with a smokestack and several dangerous-looking devices on its front. “They used to be called ‘steem contraptions,’ which was too much to say. So the name got shortened.”

Atop the steemtrap bobbed a puffy ball of red hair. A small hand pushed it back, revealing Sully, who smiled and waved. He had sandpaper in his other hand.

“About time you got here!” he said, “and don’t listen to him. Carriages were called ‘traps’ in the old days, and that’s where the name comes from – unless I’m wrong, which rarely happens. Almost impossible.”

Cobee laughed. “How about
probable
?”

“Whatever.” He pointed at the frame. “I don’t think these alloys are a good match. There’s a weird stain at the joint, and it’s not coming off.”

Will stared with wonder and confusion, while Giselle gave him a sandwich and apple. They’d all brought their lunches here to eat.

“Wait,” he said, “you’re actually building some sort of fighting wagon?”

“What else?” Cobee said. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s hardly regulation.”

“Yet,” Sully added, biting into a square fruit.

Will glanced around and saw other groups of youths working on similar steemtraps, some just a chassis and boiler, others quite advanced and nearly finished.

“Regulation?” he said quietly to Cobee. “I thought there was no government here.”

“Steemball regulations,” Cobee whispered. “Of course it has rules. Every game must.”

Will squinted, not really getting it. “Steemball? So this is a really big deal here?”

“It’s hugely popular,” Giselle whispered, “like that game on Old Earth. Kickball? No, leg-ball, I think.”

“This is exactly what I was hoping Dad would build,” Angelica called from the steemtrap’s driver seat. “By the way, this is Rachel, Sully’s sister.”

Next to her sat a girl her age with tangled, bright red hair and large spectacles, Rachel Spinoza, who’d just taken a big bite of potato salad. She waved.

“And this,” Angelica continued, holding up a sugar-dusted pastry that looked like a cross between a donut and a pancake, “is the most amazing thing I’ve ever eaten. Poffer-what?”

Cobee laughed. “Pofferjee.”

“Right. You’re lucky I got a second sack, or I wouldn’t be sharing!”

“That’s Will,” Cobee told Rachel.

“I’m Frog,” said a large, strong boy with tan skin. About Will’s age, he had large brown eyes spaced extremely far apart, a flat face, and an incredibly wide mouth. “My real name’s Hoondarus Naaktegboren, but you’ll never remember. Zo Will, call me Frog. Everyone does.”

Will shook hands and tried not to wince, as they were giving his real name and not the one his Tante Stefana had said to use. “Hi, Frog. Nice to meet you.”

“These are his sisters,” Cobee said, seeming to remember, “Giselle and Angie-bee.”

At least his sister was going by her nickname, Will thought. Though it was technically true and necessary for their safety, Will found it hard to not to correct him. He noticed Angelica had choked on a pofferjee, coughing while Rachel patted her back, and he guessed that had stopped her from blurting out the truth.

“Mm, smoked eel,” Frog gushed, taking one from a sack and munching noisily. “You should try it! Just make sure to chew the bones before swallowing.”

The others politely tried not to make faces, and Frog seemed unconcerned that no one else would take any.

“More for me, then,” he said, merrily chewing.

“Here’s Jack and Jill,” Cobee said as a boy and girl about his age walked up.

“Jack Waterford,” he said with an English accent, shaking Will’s hand. His brown hair had been cut short, but bits of it stuck out here and there like a windy ocean surface. “Cobee, you know my sister uses her middle name.”

“Sorry. She’s really Kate. I just can’t help saying Jack and Jill.”

“They’ve got siblings named Hansel and Gretel,” Sully chimed in, trying to maintain a straight face.

“They do not!” Rachel said. “Stop teasing.”

Jack laughed. “It’s all right. At least we weren’t named Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum. Since Dee’s a girl’s name, it’s clear which one I’d be stuck with!”

Jack’s fraternal twin, Kate Waterford, was tall and thin, with a pleasant face, alabaster skin, and long, dark hair that went here and there in thick tufts, with no apparent regard for gravity. On seeing Will, her cheeks turned several shades of red. She managed to squeak “hi” and looked down, causing her face to vanish behind a tumble of cascading locks.

“I’m Will,” he said. Again, he felt the urge to add “Steemjammer,” but Frog crunched the head off a smoked eel, which distracted him. “Nice to meet you.”

“What a marvelous accent,” Jack said, unaware of his discomfiture. “Where it’s from? Sorry if that’s rude. Kate says I shouldn’t ask personal questions, but sometimes I can’t help myself.”

It was hard to tell how Kate felt or if she even looked at them, for her face remained quite hidden. Will stumbled over an answer.

“Well, it’s hard to explain,” Will said truthfully. “We grew up in a remote area near a large lake.”

It felt good, Will realized, to have said something truthful. Even better, he’d managed not to disclose anything damaging.

“We’re from New London, or were,” Jack said ruefully, as if a disagreeable memory had clouded his otherwise happy disposition. “Well, not really in the city. More on the edge, but we had to move here.”

“Yes, things got unpleasant,” a muffled voice agreed, and it took Will a moment to realize this had been Kate.

“I take it by the way you’re looking around,” Jack told Will, “you’re not acquainted with Steemball.”

“That’s hard to believe,” Frog said, licking his oily fingertips clean. “Everyone’s a fan!”

“Not my grandmother,” Jack contested. “She lived in a cottage way out in the hills and had no interest it at all. Said sports were a foolish waste of time.”

Frog frowned, stretching his already broad mouth to a width that didn’t seem humanly possible. Giselle had to clench her teeth to keep from laughing.

“I hate to admit,” Will said cautiously, “that I’ve heard of the game but have little idea what it is. For starters - well, where’s the ball?”

Cobee blinked. So did Sully, and his mass of frizzled hair flopped down over his face.

“What are we sitting here for?” Frog boomed. “Verhoor ons toonen hen!”
Let’s show them!

***

Sully’d already lit a fire under the boiler to run tests, so the contraption was steamed up and ready to roll. Cobee drove, with Sully and Kate taking turns as the co-driver, and the rest stood, holding onto something.

The steemtrap had no roof or side plates, it rattled badly, and thin streams of vapor hissed out poorly soldered pipe joints. A steel shaft slowly extended from one of the peculiar, weapon-like things mounted on the front, and a prune-faced kid walking past made his peculiar wrinkles even stronger with a scowl.

“No steam to fighting systems in here,” he shouted fussily. “You know the rules.”

“It’s just loose,” Jack retorted, “not steamed.”

“Well, tighten it up.”

“Tighten your mouth,” Frog quipped.

They exchanged jeers, and the steemtrap slowly moved on, with Cobee promising it could go much faster. Rules, he explained, forced them to keep the speed at a crawl in the workshop. Soon they entered a wide, dark ramp going down to a long tunnel, and they accelerated.

“We’re going under the street,” Cobee said. “You know that park you saw earlier? It’s got a secret.”

The ramp angled up, and they came out into bright sunshine in the large park they’d seen before. From afar they hadn’t noticed it, but there were rough gouges in the dirt and trees.

“This is the Steemball Field,” Cobee said. “Zo, in a match, the teams come out and look for the ball.”

“Teams of steemtraps,” Giselle asked, “like this one?”

“No,” Sully laughed. “
Professional
traps.”

“Ours isn’t finished,” Cobee said defensively. “Anyway, a one ton bronze ball is hidden in the park.”

“One ton?” Angelica asked.

“Ya. Well, they lighten it for certain matches, like the youth league, but regulation’s a full ton. The teams go out to search and spar a little. When the ball’s found, then the real fighting starts.”

“Between steemtraps? Like with rams?”

“Sure, or crushers, which are hydraulic rams that shoot out like fists.”

“Also pokers and hackers,” Jack added. “Pokers jab like a chisel. Hackers are saw blades and screwdrivers, that sort of stuff. They try to disassemble the rival trap.”

Angelica made a face. “That doesn’t sound safe!”

Jack grinned. “Of course it isn’t.”

“There’s armor and all sorts of protective backups,” Rachel comforted. “Very few crew members actually die.”

“You can always pop a white flag,” Frog added, “if you think your trap’s had enough. That disqualifies your vehicle for the rest of the match, of course, but no one else is allowed to attack you.”

“How do you win?” Giselle asked.

“That’s what ball carriers are for,” Cobee said brightly. “They pick up the ball with a crane, and whoever gets it back to their base scores. The ball’s replaced, and so it goes until time runs out.”

“Or a team has all its traps disabled,” Rachel added, “and they lose.”

“Right. In a tie, first team that scored wins.”

“Unless it’s French rules,” Frog added, “and then the first team to score wins. They like short matches.”

Cobee let Frog take the controls, and he opened the throttle. The steemtrap rumbled surprisingly fast over the grassy ground.

“Zo, what do you think?” Rachel asked.

“Great so far,” Will answered offhandedly, “except you need to fix those leaks, your steam seems a little wet, and these pipe bends rob performance. With a straight line, you’d get – oh, let’s see.” He took a moment to run the numbers in his head. “Almost eleven percent more power. You know, basic fluid mechanics.”

The others – except Angelica and Giselle - stared in shock. Turning so none of them could see, Cobee made a face, warning Will to stop, but it was too late.

“Who do you think you are?” Frog accused. “Gerardus Steemjammer?”

Will laughed nervously, fearing he’d insulted their work and not understanding their true reaction. “Who says I know what I’m talking about?” This was true enough, as he’d only estimated, and he remembered something his cousin had said, adding: “Don’t be so easily fooled!”

The others laughed, except for Frog, who held out until at last a very wide smile broke across his face, and he shook out a chuckle.

“Well, I love your steemtrap!” Angelica told Rachel. “Would they let me work on it?”

“Work? Sure. I just wish they’d let me drive it. They keep saying ‘next week.’” Rachel turned to Cobee. “Shouldn’t we obliterate something for them?”

“I see a practice dummy,” Kate said, peering out a view port, “or what’s left of one.”

Ahead some bits of shredded plank and sheet metal sat on the ground. Though someone had worked it over, its one remaining side tempted them.

“Target in sight,” Frog said, steering.

Kate opened a valve. “Building pressure.”

“Crush!” Jack chanted, and the other joined in. “Crush! Crush! Crush!”

“You’ve actually got a crusher?” Angelica asked Rachel.

“It’s the only attack system working,” she explained.

The steemtrap slowed and stopped anticlimactically in front of the practice dummy.

“We have to stop to attack,” Cobee said, “in junior matches, or someone could get hurt.”

“Pressure’s up!” Kate called.

“Steam out!” Frog cried, tugging a handle.

WHOOSH! A violent jerk shook the steemtrap, almost knocking them off their feet. The crusher – a fist shaped piece of wood on a metal rod – flew out in a gush of vapor. It missed the dummy, flying far through the air and bouncing on the dirt.

“Falen,” Sully groaned in Dutch.
Fail.

“Blast!” Jack said. “Restrainer broke.”