Steemjammer: Through the Verltgaat (14 page)

Handing over a square copper coin, Cobee took a newspaper called THE TRUTH. The Newsboy went on his way, showing no sign of noticing their peculiar behavior.

“Now we glance at it,” Cobee whispered, “in case someone’s watching. Just go along with me.”

He opened the paper to reveal headline stories accusing the Steemjammer family of just what the newsboy had been shouting. A nasty cartoon showed a poorly drawn, gigantic Hendrelmus crushing New Amsterdam using two huge Shadovecht that he controlled like puppets on strings. The artist had given him manic eyes and an evil grin to suggest the character was enjoying the mayhem below.

“It’s absurd!” Angelica muttered.

“Careful,” Giselle warned. “Cobee’s right. We mustn’t get upset and draw attention to ourselves.”

“It’s okay if you look outraged,” Cobee said. “People will think you’re upset over the murders, but don’t tear it up. Now, let’s move on.”

He folded it and led them up the street.

“I don’t believe it,” Will hissed. “
Us
murdering people? What liars! How is this allowed?”

“How can we stop it?” Cobee said. “Too many Steemjammers left this world. When we lost Beverkenfort, we lost most of our power. Plus, the Rasmussens are rich. They own this newspaper, and they pay off lots of people to help them. Those they don’t bribe, they bully.”

“So they control Beverkenverlt?”

“Not yet. You just never know where they are or who’s working for them.”

“But no one
believes
them, right?” Angelica said.

“We hope not. Hurry. I hear the cable car.”

As they ran, a thought struck Will: that a cartoon of his father was on a newspaper in the largest city in this world. His dad, the whimsical tinker who absent-mindedly smeared his face with greasy fingers and insisted there was no such thing as cold – after being gone eleven years – still made
front page news
. What was going on?

***

The sound of a ringing bell broke the late morning air. Wood and brass, double-decked and shaped like a medieval tower, a cable car rolled down trolley tracks in the street and stopped at the corner. Painted to mimic gray stones and crenellated around the top, gold letters ran along the sides reading “De Kasteel Leedink.”
The Castle Line
.

Since no one was in the open-air section on top, Will, Angelica, Giselle and Cobee went up a narrow spiral staircase and sat down. With a jerk the cable car continued on its route. In the cool morning breeze they could get a better view of the passing city and, more importantly, talk safely.

“Dad said money’s bad,” Angelica complained, “but we use money here.”

Cobee’d handed them copper coins – some square, some round and one triangular - to pay for the ride.

“I think,” Giselle said, pausing to double-check her idea, “that Uncle Henry didn’t like
paper
money. I bet these coins are solid copper, which means they have real value. Did you know earth pennies are just cheap pot metal with a thin coating of copper?”

“Ect neet,” Cobee said. “Don’t people know they’re being cheated?”

While Giselle attempted to explain Old Earth’s monetary system (she still had the paper bills and coins, which baffled Cobee), Will looked around, amazed and hoping that no one noticed how he gawked. The tram followed a slot in the street where a steel cable snaked along, tugged by a huge steam powered wheel several miles away. To get motion, the operator pulled a lever that clamped the cable, which pulled the cable car along tracks at what felt like ten to fifteen miles per hour.

As they traveled, traffic increased. A few people used horse drawn carriages, and they saw a heavy wagon pulled by a team of mules. These slowpokes had to stay to the right, out of the way of faster vehicles.

Just like in Ohio, cars filled the streets, only here they were steam powered and, as Cobee explained, called “locomobiles.” Most were constructed of wood and brass and reminded Will of 100-year-old cars from Old Earth. Some rattled and hissed, spewing great clouds of fog-like white vapor, while coal and wood burning cars belched hot puffs of spark-spangled black smoke that churned intensely.

“All the roofs are tile or metal,” Angelica observed. “I guess if they weren’t, the embers would cause fires.”

An exotic locomobile with a uniformed chauffer sitting out front in an open air cab sped past. In back was a fancy seating compartment made of dark polished wood and silver inlay, with lace curtained windows. This one made almost no sound and spewed no smoke or vapor.

“That’s a new alcohol burner,” Cobee said admiringly. “No smoke. It’s got a condenser, too, so no vapor leaks out. Whoever’s in back, he’s rich!”

Some vehicles were outrageous. A man with a tangle of frizzy, carrot orange hair putted by on a lococycle, a motorcycle-like contraption with an enormous front wheel and an awkward firebox and boiler bolted behind his seat. Going the other way was a locomobile made to look like a big slice of watermelon, followed by a steemwagon or truck. Painted green and yellow with a happy bug face and wobbly, knobbed antennae, it towed a string of trailers shaped like a segmented, wiggly caterpillar.

“Every day’s like a parade,” Angelica said brightly. “Oh look, a dwarf.”

She pointed at a man on the sidewalk. Under three feet tall, barrel-chested and clean shaven, he entered a shop without noticing her attention.

“Careful,” Cobee warned. “They don’t always like people drawing attention to them.”

Giselle noticed a woman who had to weigh at least 600 pounds bargaining with a shop owner through the door. She was too wide to squeeze through. “Cobee, people here seem – well, I don’t want to sound rude, but they’re really different from what we’re used to.”

“Oh that,” he said. “They say we changed when our ancestors moved to Beverkenverlt. In most you see it in the hair. Some got really short, others tall or incredibly thin or muscular. Some were affected up here.” He tapped his head. “Like Alfonz. He got vaanderloos – has to keep moving, or he goes bonkers.”

“And some got really goot steem,” Angelica asked, “like us?”

Eyes sparkling, a wide smile spread across Cobee’s face. “Hoy! There’s a flink kint!”
Smart kid!

“But why? And why did we leave earth?”

The cable car had just stopped, and several people came up the spiral stairs to sit near them. Cobee whispered that she’d find out soon, to be patient.

***

They rode along, stopping every major block to let people on and off. A steam-powered airship passed overhead and slowed to dock at high steel tower, while to their right they noticed people zooming along above the rooftops on some sort of high-speed chairlift system.

Leaving a district of houses and small stores, they trundled through a wooded park and up a steep ridge. Because the cable always moved at the same speed, the cable car showed no sign of slowing, even though it leaned enough to press the passengers back into their seats.

At the top, a sweeping view of New Amsterdam appeared. Like the Old Earth city for which it was named, most neighborhoods were flat and intersected by an elaborate network of canals. Unlike Amsterdam, this place had several ranges of sharp hills and a line of steep cliffs made of a hard, gray rock.

Strangest of all, jutting out of an otherwise level part of town, stood an absurdly tall, narrow spire of gray rock streaked with white. Cobee said it was called De Torenspitz, and it tilted slightly to the north. While the many stories about the landmark all disagreed on how it got there, none claimed its origin was natural.

Soon they descended into a mazelike zone of workshops and factories. A steady flow of steemwagons, canal boats, and freight trains hauled raw materials in and manufactured goods out. These buildings spewed thick smoke from their tall stacks, and the hazy air smelled caustic. Cobee handed out handkerchiefs so they could cover their noses and mouths, which helped.

Since New Amsterdam had some large hills, the canals needed special tunnels to go through them, and at one point the road the cable car followed went through a dark tunnel blackened from years of smoke-spewing traffic. They coughed and held their breath from the reek.

“There it is,” Cobee whispered as they emerged into sunlight on the other side. “The Steem Museum.”

The air cleared again, and an enormous marble fronted factory-like building loomed ahead, gleaming in the brilliant sunlight. Towering brick and iron smokestacks poked out the top, reaching to the heavens and belching thick plumes of black smoke, which mercifully wafted up. There was a big park to the side, and the Steemjammer kids realized this had to be the building with the big junk room, the place they’d first entered through a world hole.

“What about our aunt?” Will whispered, still marveling that his father even had a sister and beginning to worry about Klazee’s misgivings. “Can we trust her?”

“I think so,” Cobee whispered. “My groesmoyder and Alfonz wouldn’t have let you come if there was any real danger.”

Will didn’t feel so sure about that but said nothing. Angelica and Giselle also felt unsettled.

“Let me handle it,” Cobee said. “We’ll be fine.”

Chapter
14

the steem museum

As they entered the main building, Will felt like a fish, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, staring in wonder at the gigantic, high-ceilinged entry hall. When they’d set off for this place, he’d hoped it would be like the Mad River Railroading Museum in Bellevue, where his father sometimes repaired boilers in trade for metal parts or tools. It was fun and mostly outdoors, with moving parts and machines.

He’d feared it would be otherwise. When he was nine, his mother had taken Angelica and him by train to visit a fancy art museum in a big city. Running wasn’t allowed, and he had to keep his voice down. Even worse, he’d felt pressured to pretend he liked everything, which would have been lying. Statues of naked people embarrassed him, and the white canvass with nothing on it seemed like a joke.

Upon walking through the Steem Museum’s massive, five-story-high steel doors, a shock of loud noises struck him, and he realized his fear was unfounded. Wheels turned, boilers hissed, whistles shrieked, bells rang, and big machines clanked. A fusion of wood smoke, coal exhaust and machine oil assaulted his nostrils.

CLANG CLANG CLANG! Someone rang a bell frantically, and a steam whistle seemed to be wooting at him. It was. He realized he and Angelica were standing on tracks, right in the way of a speeding locomotive. He pushed his sister to safety and jumped out of the way himself just in time.

A miniature train sped by with a clackety-clack, towing several flatcars loaded with crates. The engineer, a large man who sat astride the small engine, dwarfing it, shook his head at them, and in seconds he vanished into a tunnel.

Recovering from the close call, they stared in awe. Thick pipes ran everywhere, and huge, complex networks of gears and chain-drives turned on the walls. Belt-drives spun enormous circulating fans in recessed cavities way up in the ceiling. Beverkenhaas, he thought, was just a tiny version of this.

“This isn’t a museum,” Will said with wonder. “It’s a factory!”

“It’s a
living
museum,” Giselle said, awestruck.

“This way,” Cobee said. “As soon as we get your applications accepted, we can start our search.”

“Look,” Angelica said, stopping to stare.

In the middle of the high-ceilinged lobby, lit by large skylights, stood an enormous bronze statue of a man holding a sword in one hand and a blacksmith’s hammer in the other. Wrenches and pliers hung from his belt, and a penguin peered around one of his legs. Dressed in 17th century attire – baggy pantaloons, buckled shoes, lace collar - he somehow seemed more modern because of the goggles shoved up on his forehead.

The large, brass name plate at his feet caused Will’s heart to race: “GERARDUS STEEMJAMMER, OUR FOUNDER.”

“
Founder
,” Will said as an ominous feeling washed over him.

“It says Steemjammers believe that people must have access to steam power and tools,” Giselle translated, squinting as she moved closer to read Dutch words on a bronze plate at the statue’s foot. “‘We want to share our plenty with all, and so we promise to always keep open this Steem Museum, where anyone with an idea in their head and strength in their hand can make their dreams real, while remembering who we are and why we’re here.’”

“Huh?” Angelica asked. “Is this a factory or a history lesson?”

Giselle shrugged. “Both?”

Will was still stuck on the word “founder” and the fact that someone with his surname had a gigantic statue honoring him. Just what did this mean?

He was used to being the awkward kid who got picked on for homespun clothes, and his family had built this gigantic place?
How
? If Steemjammer really meant “steam failure,” what explained this monument?

“Will,” called a voice. “Giselle, Angelica. Over here.”

It was Cobee, who was dealing with a museum official who sat behind a tall podium.

“More Newtons tah be led off in slavery,” joked the man in deep, resonant voice with a heavy Scottish accent.

The Steemjammer kids, however, were too distracted to pay him much attention. Also, to the extent they’d heard him, they had no idea what he meant. Cobee tried to get their attention, but the official laughed.

“Aw, leave ‘em,” he said. “Mouths open like tha’, they’ll catch some o’ these pesky flies for us.”

There were in fact, a fair number of annoying black flies buzzing around.

“Ew,” Angelica said. “I stepped in something.”

They looked down. She had indeed put her foot in a large pile of green manure.

“Make a hole, make a hole,” called a voice.

A wooden cart pulled by a team of four cream-yellow donkeys with black manes and tails was coming. The kids stepped aside, and the bald man driving it grinned at them.

“Well, now I know what I stepped in,” Angelica said.

“Dinna worry, lass,” said the wide-faced, broad shouldered man who’d been speaking to them in a deep, Scottish-accented voice. “Donkey flop comes right off. Just stomp yer foot.”

He had bright eyes, one sky blue and the other a yellowish hazel, incredibly bushy eyebrows, and a thick brown beard flecked with copper. Wavy brown hair stuck out the sides of his leather engineer’s helmet, which was equipped with several retractable glass lenses.

Giselle looked concerned. “Excuse me, but did you say something about
slavery
?”

“What else would ye call volunteers but slaves?” he grinned. “Ye work hard for no money!”

The Steemjammer kids stared in confusion. Cobee had mentioned something about signing up as volunteers at the museum, so they could go places normal visitors couldn’t. They hoped this man was only joking.

“Let’s see what we have here,” he said, climbing down.

He seemed to vanish behind the tall podium, and when he came around the side, Angelica wasn’t quite ready for what she saw. She’d expected him to tower over her, but with extremely short legs and a body to match, he actually was a few inches shorter and had to look up at her.

“Nice to meet you,” she said, trying not to stare.

“Newtons, Newtons,” he muttered, pushing down the biggest lens from his cap to inspect them with a critical and hugely magnified eye. “Do ye know why yer Newtons?”

“Because we’re new?” Will said, feeling silly.

“Green peas are new, but I’m not calling ye tha’, am I? Yer Newtons because of
him
!”

With an expression of reverence, he pointed to an incredibly tall woman in a pair of gray overalls who struggled to repair a cleaning robot, a larger version of the floor sweeper they’d seen in Tante Klazee’s house.

“I beg your pardon?” she squeaked in a surprisingly high and annoyed voice.

“Not ye, Mildred. Och, there’s donkey flop all over, big piles of it, and flies tah boot!”

“I can see, hear and smell that. Why do you think I’m trying to fix this contraption?”

He ignored her. “Green peas, over here.”

“I thought you said we’re
Newtons
,” Angelica said.

“Exactly, and here’s why.”

On the other side of Mildred and the robot rested a marble bust of a long-faced man with big hair and the words “Isaac Newton” chiseled across the bottom.

“Once he was new,” the short man continued, “a babe in his ma’s arms, yet look what he became. The father of modern – any of ye care tah guess?”

“Physics,” Will said.

“
Physics
?” the man almost spat. “By the beard o’ the Great Maker, no!
Alchemy
.”

“Alchemy?”

“Where in B’verlt did ye come up with physics?”

Completely confused, Will made a big shrug and wondered what this man was talking about. Everyone knew Isaac Newton was a major pioneer in physics.

Holding some papers, Cobee interrupted.

“I can see by your confused faces that you’ve gotten to know Mr. Ogilvy,” he said. “Don’t worry. I have no idea what he’s talking about, either.”

“Donell Ogvily,” the man said warmly, shaking Will’s hand with a grip like a vice, which he returned as best he could. “Call me Donell.”

“I’m Will.”

“Angelica,” she said as he gently shook her hand.

“I’m Giselle,” she said in turn. “Nice to meet you.”

“Ah, goot,” Donell said, firmly shaking her hand. “We always need fresh volunteers. Plenty o’ work and not enough willin’ arms. Most Newtons burn out and quit, or get injured and become too scared tah return. Not too many die – watch it.”

WOO-WOOOT!

They had to step back as burnished steel cart zoomed by, this one powered by a steam engine that made no smoke. The annoyed driver blew another blast from the high-pitched steam whistle at them.

“Burns alcohol,” Donell growled after it, “for the pasty wimps whose lungs can’t handle
smoke
! Bah, ‘progress.’”

He turned his head to hack and cough.

“Donell runs the museum’s Apprentice and Youth Volunteer program,” Cobee said. “I’ve been in it almost a year.”

“And it’s fallin’ apart,” Donell grumbled. “Wanna know why?
Laziness
! All these kids are spoilt rotten. Get everything handed tah ‘em. Just wanna slack off all day and do no labor.

“At least ye work, Cobee. Aye, ye’ve got a good spirit for that.” He turned to Will. “So, laddie, what was yer name again?”

He told him.

“Will, I felt calluses on yer hand and a strong grip. Maybe there’s hope for ye and these lasses here. Och. I best stop mopin’ for the past and start processin’ the present. Youth Volunteers, eh? Ye gotta pass the test.”

“Test?” Angelica said worriedly.

“Aye, a test. Ready?”

“I hope so.”

“Which way ….” he turned to cough again, louder this time. “Which way is up?”

They blinked in unison.

“Huh?” Will said.

“Which way is up?”

Will felt foolish, fearing a joke, but pointed up, joined by his sister and cousin.

“Goot!” Donell laughed with a merry twinkle in his eyes. “I always say, ye give me someone who knows which way is up and is willin’ tah labor, I can train ‘em tah do anythin’. Now, where’s those papers?”

“Here, sir,” Cobee said.

“Dinna go ‘a-sirrin’ me, laddie. We left all them ‘sirs’ and so-called noble whatnot behind when we came here, and those who wanna pretend otherwise can be tied tah the tracks!”

Will wasn’t quite sure what he was going on about, and soon Donell went behind his tall podium. Several groups of Museum visitors went past them, which made him eager to get going.

“Can’t we speed this up?” he whispered to Cobee. “I want to find that storage room.”

“This is how we get there,” Cobee whispered. “Be patient.”

Donell appeared at the top of his podium with a plume in hand.

“Last name?” he asked, fixing Angelica with his gaze and catching her off guard.

“Stee-” she blurted, but Cobee affected an extremely loud sneeze to cover up the rest of what she said.

“Eh? Stee?”

“Stevens, sir,” Cobee covered for her. “They’re all Stevens, from over there.”

Will felt a strong urge to correct him but controlled himself. He saw his sister pressing her hands over her mouth. The scribbling man didn’t notice.

“Over where?” Donell asked Will.

“It’s hard to say,” he said truthfully.

“Yer accent is tough tah place.” He wrote “Will Stevens” in his log. “No matter. Ye live where?”

“Boarders, in our house,” Cobee volunteered.

“Can they not speak for themselves?” Donell said testily, writing the girls’ names. “Actually, ye kids seem pretty shook up. The museum can do that, especially tah out-of-towners such as yerselves. Now ….”

He climbed back down and handed out brass badges that read “YOUTH VOLUNTEER,” except Cobee’s read “APPRENTICE.”

“Keep that pinned on ye at all times. Cobee, give ‘em the grand tour - but not too grand. Ye know the chores that need doin’. Work’s a-pilin’ up, higher than all these stinkin’ piles o’ green fertilizer!”

“Right,” Cobee said. “Let’s get suited.”

***

“Do I have to wear overalls?” Will asked.

Cobee said that he didn’t. As a Youth Volunteer he just needed to wear protective clothing. In the men’s locker room, they went through great piles of outfits that had been donated over the decades and, in some cases, centuries. Many were quite old, and some smelled funny.

Most Museum workers wore gray or blue denim overalls because they were light weight and practical, but the kids found them ugly. A dark brown oilskin duster - a long coat made of waterproof fabric that looked like leather - caught Will’s eye, as did a wide-brimmed leather hat. Cobee chose a leather vest and helmet, and they headed out.