Steemjammer: The Deeper Truth (8 page)

Back upstairs, he studied the main floor and became alarmed as he realized he’d missed something obvious. The shattered door, broken furniture and many other signs pointed to one conclusion: someone or something had forced an entry, and there’d been a rather serious melee.

Had a Shadovecht, he wondered, attacked? One seemed trapped in that pit, still giving off a fear aura, but surely the Rasmussens would have attacked with several. And that, he realized, meant catastrophe.

“No!” Marteenus groaned.

He bit his lip and grabbed a rail to steady himself. His mind seethed with despair as thoughts clarified.

“Shadovecht,” he said miserably. “Fighting? That can only mean one thing. Rasmussens have already been here.”

His next thought was so dreadful he couldn’t voice it. If Rasmussens had invaded with Shadovecht, he realized that had to mean they’d taken everything of value, including the verltgaat machine. Or had they?

Looking at the destruction, he had to conclude they’d killed or kidnapped Hendrelmus and his family while taking their contraptions. Even worse, he could imagine those leering Rasmussens with the verltgaat machine in their possession, laughing at him and never intending to bring him home or pay him so much as one copper coin of the reward they’d promised.

He’d lost. Now he was trapped in this horrid world forever. Overwhelmed with depression, he crept out, trudging dejectedly back to the airship.

“Maybe they’ll value my effort,” he told himself on the verge of tears. “I risked everything for them! Surely they’ll remember and offer me at least some comfort. They owe me.”

He wished he could believe it.

***

“Hey, Sleeb!”

Deep in a tangle of mazelike service corridors on the Steem Museum’s first floor, Will thought it was about time Bram found him – only this wasn’t the young Rasmussen. Coming down a dark hallway, Bram’s green-tinted friend stepped into the weak lantern light, piling on Dutch insults too fast to him to understand.

“Otis,” Will said, remembering his name while recoiling from his pungent bad breath. “Haven’t you ever heard of a toothbrush?”

“A what?” the green boy snarled, switching to English while attempting to intimidate him with a scowl.

“Never mind. I need to see Bram.”

Otis called down the hallway. “Simon, get over here.”

To Will’s dismay, another of Bram’s cronies who’d been particularly insulting the other day, came up to join Otis. Simon was fairly large, but Will thought he could take him, if it came to that.

“You’ll talk to Bram,” Otis scoffed, shoving Will at his friend, “when we’re done with you!”

Realizing the large boy was about to shove him into a wall, Will drew on a trick his father had taught him and spun. The big kid’s hands slid past him. Will kicked him behind his knee while pushing his chest. Off balance, he toppled into Otis, and they tumbled to the floor.

“That’s it!” Otis howled, getting up hotly and pulling back his sleeves. “One dead sleeb, ripe for pulping! Grab his arms, Simon, while I flatten his face!”

Realizing he couldn’t take on both of them, Will twisted out of Simon’s grasp and ran. From his innate sense of navigation, he was able to sprint down the dark stretches and make turns neatly, while the others slowed and sometimes bumped into walls. Still, they managed to keep up, and then, the dimly lit hallway in front of Will suddenly filled with shadow, blocked.

“What’s this?” said a familiar voice. It was Bram. Lockwood stood behind him.

“Killing sleebs,” Otis huffed, coming up behind Will and grabbing him. “Wanna piece of him?”

“I found it,” Will told Bram.

The young Rasmussen’s face lit up with anticipation. “About time.” He studied his cronies with a sour face. “Otis, what are you doing?”

With a hurt expression on his face, he released Will.

“Hit him,” Bram ordered Simon, who grinned malevolently as he slugged Otis hard in the stomach.

“Ow!” he yelled, bending over in pain. Then, he kicked Simon in the leg.

“Hey!” Simon shouted.

“Shut up,” Bram hissed. “Go beat each other to a pulp outside.”

They left sullenly, with Bram rolling his eyes at them. Will wondered if they were really going to go outside and follow his orders to the letter. It seemed possible.

“Well?” Bram said impatiently. “Where?”

Will nodded at a hallway. “This way.”

***

“Here,” Will said a moment later.

They stood in a dark, seldom-used main floor hallway. He’d memorized Donell’s map and was sure this was the right spot, but there were no doors. Tapping the walls, they found no evidence of a secret door, either.

“Are you sure?” Bram doubted. “We searched this area before.”

“Well, let’s try again,” Will said cheerfully.

They tapped and ran their fingers along surfaces, trying to feel for bumps or gaps. Lockwood produced a small wooden club from his coat to rap on the wall, but they got no hollow sounds.

“Stevens, if you’re wrong,” Bram threatened, “if this is some sort of joke-”

“No, it’s here,” Will interrupted.

But was it? He ran the map details through his head.

“It’s past that turn, on this wall,” he pointed. “How about some light?”

Lockwood pulled a candle stub from somewhere deep within his large coat and lit it. Great, Will thought, a blank wall. Then, a hissing sound came from above.

A steam pipe ran parallel to the ceiling, not too high up, and he remembered Donell’s clue: “third hangar.” Hangars were metal clamps used to keep pipes from sagging. He counted three from the corner and jumped, grabbing it. It moved, and a small hatch-like door opened in the wall.

“Excellent!” Bram said, peering in. “Well, go on.”

Not quite sure what to expect, Will crawled down a narrow, utterly dark passage. He asked for and was given the flickering candle stub. Wincing from dripping wax on his hand, he found a small room where he could stand up. It also had an obvious trap door in the floor. Bram entered right behind him.

“Perfect!” he said. “Stevens, I didn’t think you’d deliver. I was starting to believe I’d made a mistake.”

Will tugged on the trap door, but it wouldn’t budge.

“Locked,” he said.

“Not for long,” Bram replied.

He removed a small glass vial from a pocket. Taking the candle stub so he could see, he used his other hand to pour a clear liquid into the keyhole. It fizzled, emitting smoke, and the trap door creaked open easily.

“Master Bram,” Lockwood’s strained voice came from the crawlway. “I can’t go no more. I’m too thick.”

“Isn’t that the truth!” Bram whispered wickedly to Will, winking - then called loudly to his guard: “It’s fine. We’re going down.”

“Don’t. You know your father’s orders.”

“Then, squeeze on through.”

“Master Bram? Come back. It’s not safe!”

As they went down stone steps, Lockwood’s pleading gradually faded. Will found it strange to hear such a powerful man pleading with a kid so pathetically.

“Do you have any idea what it’s like dragging around that ball and chain?” Bram grumbled. “What’s that stench?”

A strong, acrid odor came wafting up from below, but it wasn’t the smell of death. They continued down.

“You have a mother?” Bram asked out of the blue.

Will nodded.

“What does she think of you becoming a thief?”

He shrugged.

“She left you, too?” Bram pressed. “What’s it like, when Mom and Dad both walk out?”

Will found this a strange question and studied Bram. He didn’t seem bent on causing mischief. There was clearly something on his mind.

“Awful, when you realize they’re gone,” Will admitted truthfully. “First one, then the other. You’re alone, asking yourself what you did wrong and how to get them back. When they don’t return and the food’s running out, you focus on survival.”

“What if they were to come back one day?” Bram said. “Would you forgive them?”

“Yes.”

Bram let out a harsh cackle.

“You’re an idiot, Stevens,” he said. “You know that, don’t you?”

Will sighed. What could he say to that?

“I’ll never forgive mine,” Bram muttered bitterly.

“But you haven’t been abandoned,” Will said.

“What do you know? My mother’s off at our outpost with the Frenchies, pretending to be an ambassador. Five years, and I’ve seen her twice. As for my father, I have the Steemjammers to thank for him, and to share my hate.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t.” Bram paused, picking his words carefully before continuing. “He was cut open by some cowardly, over-stuffed ‘Steem-failure’ who came at him from behind. The wound became infected, or perhaps poison got into it. Months went by, and it never healed.”

He hesitated, seeming to weigh in his mind whether or not to continue.

“Ten years ago,” Bram said distantly, “they brought me to him. He was pale, with sunken eyes, and far too thin. Even a non-Rasmussen could see he was dying.

“He touched my hand and told me he was going away for a while, but he’d be back, that I’d see him again. What a lie.”

A flood of painful memories made Bram wince.

“What happened?” Will asked.

“Doctors. Some radical new procedure. They saved his life, but he can’t see people. Risk of infection? Is he damaged or weird-looking and doesn’t want us to see him that way? No clue. He’s stuck in a room where even I can’t go.”

In spite of himself, Will began to feel genuine pity for the boy. “I’m sorry.”

“I haven’t seen him since that day,” Bram said. “We talk to each other, when they let me into a special room - when he has time for me, which is almost never. I know it’s him, but he sounds strange from talking through a diaphragm.

“He sometimes writes letters, and it’s his handwriting. Still, I wonder what happened and whether he’d be better off if he’d just let himself die.”

Bram’s eyes flared strangely. Will wasn’t sure what to make of this. They reached the bottom of the steps, but Bram didn’t seem to notice. Will wondered if Bram wanted his father dead so he could take over the family.

“There’s no hope?” Will asked, finding it strange that he felt such empathy for an enemy.

Bram shook his head, no. Taking the candle stub, he absentmindedly lit a pair of lanterns that sat on a table.

“No real hope,” Bram said miserably. “For me, either. Think about it. My father, Zander Rasmussen, asked his only son and heir, me, to go right into the enemy’s biggest stronghold - this junk heap. Sure, I wanted to find something amazing and win everyone’s respect, but what was the real reason he sent me?”

Will shrugged.

“Do you know how my father took over the family?” Bram asked. “His father died. Poisoned, they hint. Supposedly when my father was twenty, he killed my grandfather, and you know what’s funny? My grandfather openly admitted killing his father, with a dagger in the back.”

A dark scowl crossed his face.

“I think,” Bram continued, “my father fears I’m old enough to follow the
family tradition
. I think he’s hoping the Steemjammers will take care of me. That way, I’ll be conveniently dead, and he can use it to motivate others to flock to his cause.”

Will couldn’t hide his shock. A father setting up his own son to be murdered? Who were these people?

“Why haven’t they done anything to you?” he asked. “The Steemjammers?”

Bram shrugged. “Too weak? Too afraid? Already given up hope? I don’t know. I have trouble understanding why other people act the way they do.”

He winced and forced himself to change the subject.

“We have a problem,” he said, glancing around. “I don’t see any Shadovecht bits.”

In the dim lamp light, Will couldn’t see much, either.

“Stevens,” Bram said menacingly, “you sure about this?”

“This has to be it,” Will said.

“There’s not even a whiff of one.”

CLICK. Will saw that Bram held a small knife handle, and a thin, razor-sharp blade had just shot out the tip. A horrible thought streaked through his mind. Was Bram going to kill him?

Chapter 7

a tangled web

Bram stabbed forward with the stiletto blade and snagged a dirty rag from a workbench on the tip. Bringing it to his face, he sniffed. Will, who’d thought he was going to stab him, hid his relief.

Making a sour face, Bram slung the rag away. “Pine tar and vinegar. They must have been scrubbing for hours, trying to get rid of the Shadovecht’s stench.”

“It did smell awful,” Will said truthfully, remembering his experiences. “So pine and vinegar gets rid of the odor?”

“It must, because I don’t smell it.”

CLICK. Will was glad to see the deadly blade slip back into its handle, and Bram pocketed the weapon. Had Donell, Will wondered, realized the absence of a horrid smell could be a problem? Had he put the rag there for this reason?

Bram picked up a lantern. “Search over there. I’ll look on this side. If you see anything interesting, tell me, but don’t touch it.”

Grabbing the other lantern, Will opened a box, and to his horror, he saw books on incalculus. Another title read “Verltgaat Perplexiteeten.”
World Hole Perplexities
. As he reached down to cover it, he heard Bram coming over.

“I said not to touch anything!” he barked, then glanced at the box. “Boring. We found all their books in that mountain pigsty. I’m interested in something else.”

As Bram went back to his side to search, Will wondered if Donell had known they already had these books. Tante Stefana had told him to trust Donell, but Tante Klazee had reacted badly at the mere mentioning of her name. What if, it occurred to Will, they were up to something?

“They must have moved the Shadovecht pieces,” Bram said. “That makes sense. There aren’t any proper laboratories here.”

He opened a box and dumped the contents.

“Junk,” he groaned and moved on.

Will had no idea what Donell had set up, save that it was using the trust he’d earned with Bram to somehow get back at them. He felt ashamed for wondering if Donell and Tante Stefana had turned against the family, but confusion and fear were playing on his mind. This didn’t feel right.

“Garbage,” Bram scoffed as he poured a box of large, sparkling diamonds on the floor.

Will had learned such things held great value on Old Earth, but here diamonds seemed common. He kept searching, wondering what it was they were supposed to locate.

Bram pried open some old crates but found nothing. After they tore apart an old Museum display, the young Rasmussen became irritated.

“All right, Stevens,” Bram said. “Where is it?”

“Where is what?” Will asked, baffled.

In anger, Bram kicked a desk and sent it tipping over with a loud crash.

“It has to be here!” he shouted.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Will said honestly.

Bram cracked open a vase.

“Maybe this is the wrong place,” Will offered. “Nothing seems valuable. Just old junk.”

“That’s what makes me think it’s here,” Bram admitted. “You see, we have a clue. It was hidden ‘in plain sight,’ but we’ve searched lots of places that match that.

“Then, it hit me: what if someone moved it? It may no longer be in plain sight. It could be anywhere, like this room.”

“Any other clues?”

“He liked Steemball.”

“Who?”

“None of your business. Just keep looking.”

Hadn’t Bram asked something about Steemball back in Texel? How did the game, Will wondered, factor into this?

Then, he noticed a tarnished silver cup on a dusty shelf in the corner. An old trophy, he realized, and on top of it sat a small bronze ball.

He pointed. “Bram.”

“Genius!” Bram cackled and picked it up. “Why didn’t I notice it before? ‘To Ricardus Steemjammer,’” he read the plaque with sarcasm. “‘In appreciation for your support and enthusiasm for the greatest game in Beverkenverlt.’”

“That’s it?”

“Gotta be.”

Bram shook it violently.

“Tools,” he demanded.

Finding a hacksaw in an old toolbox, Bram cut into the cup, which went quickly because silver was so soft. When it proved empty, they took turns cutting on the bronze ball. Before long, they got it to the point where Bram could wedge it open.

“Gaaf!” he cried in triumph.

Behind him, Will’s eyes flared open as he saw what rested inside: a familiar-looking dull gray lump of metal. Tracium!

“Hah!” Bram cackled. “At last!”

Dislodging the Tracium and holding it tightly, he wheeled and fixed Will with an almost hysterical gaze. What, Will wondered with horror, was going on here? Was Donell betraying them? If the Raz got this, everything was over. Will balled up his fist and prepared to attack.

As Bram held his prize near a lamp to study it, Will hesitated. Seeing it in better light, he realized that something wasn’t right. The piece of metal didn’t quite match his memory of the spinning, ghostly piece of Tracium.

He had to keep himself from laughing as he realized what Donell had done. It was fake!

“Congratulations, Stevens,” Bram said magnanimously. “You’ve earned your place at the table.”

“I have?” Will said.

“Of course, and a whole lot more.”

He buried the metal lump deep in his pocket.

“I’m very happy,” Bram continued, smiling with satisfaction. “You’ve got a future with me, Stevens. True, you’re just a poor sleeb, but you’ve got far more skills than most – like that green-faced slob, Otis.

“I’m going places, and I’m taking you with me. You’ve got a lot to learn, so don’t get cocky. But you’ve got qualities I don’t see every day. For one thing, I feel I can trust you.

“Trust you with what? Right off, not telling a soul about this. Not your sisters or anyone, and especially not that maggot dwarf or Ren-stink. Understood?”

Will nodded.

Bram’s face turned dark. “Particularly what I said about my father – no one can hear that. Not a soul.”

Will nodded solemnly. “I understand.”

“You’d better. There’s no way you can gain from it. If you so much as whisper it, they’ll tear you apart to make sure they find everything.”

Returning to a happy mood, he slapped Will’s back.

“Welcome to the family,” Bram said, leading him up the steps. “Start thinking of the color you’ll use to dye your forelock. I’m quite sure my father will give you that high honor. We’ll go straight to Texel and make arrangements to present this to him, and I want you at my side.”

The mere thought of returning there made Will’s knees feel like they might buckle, and that was only a Rasmussen outpost. What kind of horrors lay in their main building complex, he wondered, where Shadovecht were made? Was this part of the plan? Did he really have to go with Bram?

***

“This isn’t right!” Angelica had said for what felt like the tenth time.

Since Giselle and Cobee ignored her and focused on some obviously unimportant task, she decided to take matters into her own hands. After all, if her brother and cousin could break rules and sneak off, why couldn’t she? She headed off to find him and give him a piece of her mind.

A few minutes later she found herself totally turned around in the Steem Museum’s poorly lit, mazelike corridors. She’d come down several flights of stairs, but she had no idea what floor she’d reached. Ahead, the hallway widened, and she thought she saw a large door. Hearing voices, however, she pressed herself into a dark corner and hoped the shadows would hide her.

“This ‘sleeb,’” a familiar voice rang down the corridor from ahead, “as you mistakenly called him, has done more to help the Protectorate than you ever will.”

It was Bram, she realized, followed by the bodyguard, his female cousin, Zylph, and someone else. Entering the corridor from a narrow side passage, they turned and headed for the large door. She remained unnoticed.

“What is this nonsense?” Zylph protested. “Him?”

“Keep quiet!” Bram hissed angrily. “We’re not safe until we get out of this dirty old ruin.”

As they passed a wall lamp, she saw her brother’s face and clenched with anguish. Will has done more for the Rasmussens than Zylph? How was this possible?

She got up and followed as they neared the steps. Why was he going with them? She wondered if somehow they controlled his mind.

Whatever the case, she was determined to put a stop to this. She closed in, but just as she was about to call out, someone grabbed her from behind. Before she could scream, a firm hand covered her mouth. Unable to resist, she was dragged back through a small doorway in the wall.

“Quiet, lass,” a deep voice whispered. “Do ye wanna spoil everythin’?”

The door quietly shut, and Donell Ogilvy opened a hooded lantern to give them just enough light to see.

“They’ve kidnapped him again!” Angelica said, trying to keep her voice down.

“Nay, not so.”

“Then, what’s happening?”

“Patience, lass. Yer brother’s fine.”

“No, he’s not! Bram and Zylph are taking him somewhere. Can’t you tell?”

Donell cracked open the secret door and peered down the hallway. Ducking back inside, he thought things over.

“Och, I should’ve thought o’ this,” he said. “Maybe it worked, and Bram wants tah take him tah Texel tah celebrate. The other option is that Bram saw through it, and he’s trying to recapture Will. Either way, I dinna like it, but if we stop them, it would cast suspicion!”

***

Growing more nervous with each step, Will realized Lockwood was behind him as he followed Bram and Zylph, who bickered. He found himself too unnerved to pay them much attention, save that he was the object of her continued complaints.

“His name is Will Stevens,” Bram said, “and if you call him ‘sleeb’ again, you’ll regret it.”

Will couldn’t believe his ears. Bram Rasmussen was still defending him? Whatever Donell was up to, Will thought, they seemed to be buying it.

“His clothing,” Zylph sneered, “and manners are beneath us. I’ve never heard of a Stevens family, so they must have no power, money or influence. They’re worse than sleebs, Bram. They’re worms.”

“Not for much longer,” Bram grinned and turned, stopping. “Stevens?”

“Yes?” Will said, not sure what to expect.

“Something just occurred to me. If you’re seen leaving with us, it would attract attention.”

“They spy on our every move,” Zylph whispered. “I feel eyes on my back constantly in this retched slag heap.”

Bram’s face wrinkled as he thought things over.

“You may still be of use to us here,” he told Will, “on the inside. I’m afraid you’ll have to stay in this pathetic monument to Steem-
failures
a while longer. Just fit in and lay low. With that idiotic Steemball thing starting, it shouldn’t be too hard, as everyone will be caught up in that.”

Slanting his eyes, his voice became stern.

“Not a word to anyone, remember,” he warned.

“You want me to stay here?” Will said, trying to hide his relief.

“I know it must be disappointing, but it won’t be long. You’ll live like a prince, Stevens. Soon.”

Zylph gave Will an unsettling smile as she turned to follow her cousin down the hallway. Is this, he thought, all there was to it?.