The Lightning Catcher: The Secrets of the Storm Vortex (25 page)

“I do have some news about the weather vortex that you three might be interested to hear,” Jeremius said. “According to the latest reports from the weather station, it's continuing to thin out and weaken. The cloud should clear any day now, and we'll know exactly what Dankhart and his monsoon mongrels have been doing.”

“We've got something to tell you as well,” Angus said, keeping his voice down. “We think it could be important.”

At that precise moment, however, Catcher Sparks clapped her hands above her head, calling for attention. Every head turned in her direction.

“The demonstrations will begin in five minutes. If you would all take your seats immediately, please!”

Noise levels increased dramatically as every lightning
catcher and cub began to head toward the seats arranged around the stage.

“Listen, come and find me after the demonstration. We can talk properly then,” Jeremius called, already being jostled away from them by the tide. “I'm thinking of asking Principal Dark-Angel if she'll let you three spend the rest of the weekend at Feaver Street with me and Mr. Dewsnap.”

“Seriously?” Angus shouted over the moving bodies that now stood between him and his uncle. But Jeremius had already been swallowed up by the crowd.

“This is brilliant,” Dougal said, grinning beside him. “I can pick up some spare socks and a few books. With any luck Mrs. Stobbs might bake one of her chicken and ham pies.”

“And I've never been to Feaver Street,” Indigo said, looking eager to visit.

“Plus we can tell Jeremius what we've just found out from Hartley Windspear,” Angus added, suddenly feeling a heavy weight lifting. His mood took a definite upswing.

Jeremius was far more likely than any other lightning catcher to take their worries seriously. And if they could
talk to him properly, away from Perilous . . . It had also been months now since he'd seen any member of his own family. The prospect of a whole weekend at Feaver Street with Jeremius was very appealing.

They found three empty seats behind Violet Quinn, Millicent Nichols, and Georgina Fox. Angus was now looking forward to the demonstration far more than he had been when they'd arrived in the square. A few moments later Principal Dark-Angel appeared onstage to a polite round of applause, and an expectant silence fell.

“Good evening to you all.” She began with a weary-looking smile. Angus wondered if she'd been up late into the night dealing with the aftermath of the missing keys. “And so we come to the final demonstration. I have known the Galipots since their early days at Perilous and have admired their work in advanced weather observation for many years. It is my great pleasure, therefore, to introduce the winners of last year's Lightning Catcher of the Year award, Lettice and Leonard Galipot.”

There was an enthusiastic round of applause as Principal Dark-Angel left the stage, shaking hands with the two lightning catchers as they passed her on the stairs. A
strange contraption was wheeled in from the other side of the stage; it looked like a large unblinking eye sitting on top of a small, square box.

“As the great Edgar Perilous once said, ‘Without observation there can be no understanding.'” Leonard Galipot began as soon as the crowd had settled again. “Without observation, we would still be as baffled today by the mysteries of a thundercloud or the power of a tornado as were the early lightning catchers who founded our great Exploratorium here on Imbur.”

“He's not going to give us a boring lecture on weather observation, is he?” Dougal whispered.

“Weather observation is still the cornerstone of all work done by every lightning catcher across the globe.” Catcher Galipot continued before Angus could answer. “In this modern age, however, we have many instruments and devices to help with such vital work.” He pointed to the large eye next to him. “The Galipot portable weather eye is small enough to be taken on virtually any field trip or expedition.”

“The weather eye extends all the way up to the cloud base, to storm level,” Lettice Galipot said, continuing
where her husband left off. “It can rotate through three-hundred and sixty degrees for full panoramic vision. For the purposes of this demonstration, we will project any image seen through the weather eye onto a foldout screen.”

The screen was as large as any in a movie theater. Angus shifted in his seat so he could see over the top of Georgina's head more clearly. He was keen to see exactly what the weather eye could do, although he couldn't fight off a slight feeling of disappointment that this demonstration, with its lack of shimmer sharks and fearsome fog, would be nowhere near as dangerous or exciting as the others.

“The weather eye is the perfect instant, mobile weather assessment device for lightning catchers faced with an unexpected storm or emerging weather catastrophe.” Lettice Galipot continued. There was murmur of excitement from the audience.

“Now, to demonstrate.” She fiddled with a button on the side of the box. A hidden mechanism inside it coughed and spluttered into life. It rumbled and shook for several moments, as if preparing for takeoff.

Whoosh!

The weather eye shot up suddenly through a flap in the tent ceiling, on the end of a tall bendy snakelike pole, and disappeared from sight, leaving several members of the audience gasping with shock.

“As you can see, the Galipot weather eye can be deployed anywhere, night or day. It has already been tested extensively in different weather regions across the globe and through all four seasons here on Imbur Island.”

A blurry image suddenly appeared on the screen. Leonard Galipot fiddled with a dial, and the picture sharpened. The weather eye had ascended straight through the top of the cloud sitting directly over Little Frog's Bottom, startling a flock of seagulls. Whiffs and puffs of gray haze floated past as the weather eye waited for its next instruction.

“And now, if I rotate the weather eye to the east . . .”

Leonard Galipot bent down, attached a crank handle to the side of the box, and began to wind it in a clockwise direction. The image on the screen blurred again as the weather eye turned slowly toward the sea. Waves sparkled in the distance. A large bank of fog was approaching the island. Before Angus could tell what
kind it was, the weather eye was on the move again, this time facing back toward Perilous, and the familiar building came into focus. It was an impressive sight.

“Each weather eye comes with an optical zoom that allows you to concentrate on any trouble spots.”

The lens whizzed in rapidly, revealing a very close-up view of the Exploratorium. Angus squinted at the screen. They were now looking straight through one of the windows in the library, where someone sat hunched over a study table.

“Oh, no! It's Germ!” Indigo blushed beside Angus.

Angus grinned, nudging Dougal. Germ had fallen asleep over his workbooks, his hair sticking up at odd angles, a thin trickle of drool collecting on his chin.

“He's going to be mortified when he finds out everyone's been watching him slobber all over the desk,” Dougal said over the sound of sniggering.

Indigo sank down further in her seat, covering her face with her hands. Angus decided that the only thing that would truly upset Germ was the fact that he'd slept through his glorious moment of fame.

Thankfully, the demonstrator turned the lens farther
round and focused in on another window in the lightning catchers' living quarters instead. Catcher Killigrew, who had clearly decided not to attend the event, was busy ironing a voluminous pair of spotted underpants. He then proceeded to trim the long hairs protruding from his nostrils with a small pair of clippers.

“Urgh!”
Dougal cringed away from the unsavory sight as the demonstrator hurriedly moved the weather eye sixty degrees to the west.

“Yes, well, I think everyone gets the gist of things. When faced with more challenging terrain,” Leonard Galipot said, quickly trying to regain the interest of the audience, most of whom were still snickering at the sight of Catcher Killigrew's underpants, “the weather eye can be extended to even greater heights.”

He pushed a button on the side, and the contraption rocked to and fro alarmingly. When the image settled a moment later, a sharp intake of breath swept around the entire audience. The weather eye was now swaying in a high wind, looking down over a range of snowcapped mountains. In the distance, clearly visible for the first time, was the swirling weather vortex over Castle Dankhart.

Angus stared at the disturbing image on the screen, holding his breath. Indigo, horror-struck, was clutching her face with her fingertips.

“Since our arrival at Perilous we have been using the weather eye to help monitor the weather vortex,” Lettice Galipot explained.

It was the first time most of the audience had seen a live view of the castle, at storm level or otherwise, even if it was completely obscured by the vortex. Several lightning catchers stood up for a better look. Millicent Nichols fainted in the row in front of them and had to be carried out of the tent for some air. Angus felt his stomach churn. Somewhere beneath the seething weather vortex, his mum and dad were trapped. It was exactly like the weather sample he and Indigo had seen in the Dankhart archive, only a thousand times bigger and far more turbulent than any photograph or description had ever managed to convey. Nor did it seem to be thinning out; if anything, the cloud looked much more violent than the last pictures in the
Weathervane
. Angus glanced at Dark-Angel, Rogwood, Gudgeon, and Jeremius, who were now leaning toward one another
in urgent discussions. This was not what they'd been expecting to see.

“If we zoom in, we can observe the cloud in more detail,” Lettice Galipot said.

“I can see some of the deadly seven!” Angus stared at great swaths of ice-diamond spores, scarlet sleeping snow, and rancid rain.

“I think I'm going to be sick!” Dougal hissed, shielding his eyes from the lightning bolts, giant hailstones, and countless bits of flying debris.

BOOOOOOOOM!

The ground suddenly trembled beneath their seats.

“What's happening now?” Dougal shot to his feet in a panic.

The whole audience suddenly seemed to be standing; some were clambering out of their seats, and heading for the exit.

“Look!” Angus pointed at the large screen, even brighter and more visible now in the dimming light of the late afternoon. It showed a startling new image from the weather eye.

The weather vortex had doubled in size. The enormous
turbulent cloud, which now whirled with the energy of a thousand violent storms, seemed to be grower bigger by the second.

BOOOOOOOOM!

Another explosion rocked the tent.

“Why does it keep doing that?” Indigo yelled above the screams of panic breaking out all around them.

“I think—I think the weather vortex is finally dispersing!” Dougal explained, his glasses slipping down to the end of his nose in surprise. “It's releasing all the energy and the most dangerous weather that's been tied up at the inner core for months!”

BOOOOOOOOM!

“We've got to get out of this tent now!” Dougal warned as the ground shook forcefully for a third time. “If that cloud gets blown over Little Frog's Bottom, we've had it!”

“No! Wait!”

Angus called Dougal back. Indigo stopped dead in her tracks, and all three of them stared at the confusing images now flitting across the large screen. The cloud had finally been blown clear of the castle by the last explosion. For the first time they could see exactly what was hidden
underneath it. There were no signs of any catastrophic weather accidents. The castle stood intact, as tall, dark, and spooky as they'd seen it in the storm hollow.

Gudgeon had been right all along. Dankhart had been using the weather vortex to hide something so monstrous, so huge that it filled the screen in front of them. Angus blinked at the startling image in horror.

“Dankhart's built a lightning tower!”

  
16
  
MURDEROUS STINGING FOG

T
he lightning tower, a giant metal pyramid with an eerie skeletal heart, soared above the dark castle. It glistened and sparkled, drenched in rain and melting snowflakes from the weather vortex. The tower was monstrous, far bigger than the ones Angus had seen with his own eyes through the retrospectacles in London.

“Dankhart's been fooling everyone!” he said, a shiver of understanding shaking him down to the bone. “I should have realized when I saw the towers through the retrospectacles, when I read Edwin Larkspur's name in the
Weathervane
. I bet that's where Dankhart got the idea, from the lightning tower remains!” He stared at Dougal
and Indigo, trying to explain. “Edgar Perilous and Philip Starling helped build the towers so they could capture lightning and use it for the good of all humankind. But Dankhart's going to turn it into a weapon!”

“And if you add fire dragon scales to lightning storm particles . . .” Indigo added, understanding instantly.

Dougal turned as pale as a stinging fog. Angus remembered Hartley Windspear's chilling words in the Inner Sanctum: “The lightning catchers noted that fire dragon scales, when combined with lightning storm particles, could produce weather of cataclysmic power.”

“It was Dankhart all along. Crevice never wanted those dragon scales for a bunion cure, and with Valentine Vellum's help, Dankhart's going to create his own catastrophic weather!”

“Don't just stand there gawping, you three!” Gudgeon jumped down from the stage and stepped over the emptying rows of chairs until he reached them. “That storm's about to break, and Principal Dark-Angel's ordered an immediate evacuation to Brabazon Botanicals, so shift it!”

“But the crypt!” Angus blurted out, refusing to move.
He had to be sure; he had to know that the storm prophet coffins were still intact, the dragon scales safe. “Has anything happened in the crypt?”

Gudgeon frowned. “I should have guessed you three would already know about that. Someone broke into one of the storm prophet tombs early this morning and stole some fire dragon scales.”

Angus glanced sideways at Dougal and Indigo, his worst fears suddenly confirmed.

“Catcher Coriolis raised the alarm, but it was already too late, and this is not the time or the place to be having discussions about the crypt!” Gudgeon added, staring up at the tent ceiling, which was shaking wildly in the wind. “I won't tell you three again. You'd better shift it to Brabazon Botanicals before I carry you there myself!”

He turned away from them abruptly and marched over to shout at some dithering lightning cubs.

They ran, quickly joining a large group of fleeing third, fourth, and fifth years being herded toward the exit closest to Brabazon Botanicals by Catcher Sparks.

“Move along there, quickly now!” she shouted. “And stop pinching Croxley on the arm, Twill!”

Angus tried to turn his head to see who was elbowing him in the shoulder blades and almost choked. Disappearing across the deserted stage, which was now behind them, he was positive he'd just caught a brief glimpse of a lone figure in a long black coat. He ducked under Twill's armpit, trying to get a better look, but the stranger had already vanished.

“The stranger in the coat!” he whispered urgently in Dougal's ear. “I think he's heading for the far side of the tent.” He tried to point, accidentally poking a third-year girl in the eye. “Sorry!”

“But what can we do?” Dougal said.

“Find out if we were right about Vellum, Crevice, and those dragon scales, for a start. If they were stolen first thing this morning, I bet Vellum's on his way to deliver them to the bone merchant right now!”

“But nobody will believe us,” Indigo said. “Valentine Vellum's a senior lightning catcher. We can't just accuse him of stealing something so valuable.”

“They might believe a photo,” Dougal said, dragging the spy pen out of his pocket to show them.

Angus stared at his friend. “Dougal, that's genius!”

Indigo nodded. “All we've got to do now is catch Vellum in the act!”

“But what about the weather vortex?” Dougal scowled up at the canvas above their heads. The sky outside was clearly darkening, causing light levels inside the tent to drop dramatically. “We can't just go skipping off into the night with that thing threatening to drop the entire deadly seven on our heads.”

Angus glanced with some difficulty at his weather watch, which was now flashing several desperate warnings at him. It would be very close. If they got caught out in the vicious weather, they could be injured, knocked unconscious, or worse.

“We'll have to do it quickly. If we can just prove Vellum's in cahoots with Crevice and Indigo's dear old uncle Scabby . . .”

They twisted around with some difficulty.

“Watch where you're treading, McFangus! That was my foot!” Edmund Croxley complained, glaring down at him.

“Sorry!”

“Ow!”

“Sorry!”

They pushed against the fleeing tide, being knocked and buffeted, pushed and dragged, and for several minutes it was impossible to make any headway.

“McFangus! Midnight! Dewsnap!” An arm shot out from a tight knot of lightning cubs, grabbing Angus by the elbow. “You're heading in the wrong direction,” Catcher Sparks said, emerging from the crowd. “You will turn around and go straight to Brabazon Botanicals with the rest of the lightning cubs and do exactly as your uncle Jeremius instructs.”

“But, miss—” Angus began.

“No buts, McFangus, and no diversions either. Do I make myself clear?”

She went hurtling off two seconds later to stop three hysterical first years who were attempting to flee through a hole in the tent.

“Nobody's going to listen to us,” Indigo said, looking determined. “We've got to see where Vellum's going.”

Indigo led the way, breaking through a tiny gap in the crowd, and raced for the exit on the far side of the tent. Outside, the square had grown eerily dark. The weather vortex was advancing across the sky toward Little Frog's
Bottom at a frightening pace. Angus gulped. It had already started to unravel into great long rolls of blackened cloud. It looked a hundred times more deadly than it had on the screen inside the tent.

He swiftly checked his weather watch, which had gone into meltdown and was warning him to take cover, pull on his rubber boots, and flee the island all at the same time.

“We haven't got much time,” he said, scanning the square for any signs of life, hoping they hadn't already lost Vellum. He saw a flicker of movement.

“Over there!” A solitary figure was hurrying toward the far side of the square. They ran across the cobbles, keeping out of sight in the deep shadows as they raced past the fishmonger's, Noggins (the hat shop), and the Yodeling Yeti café. All the cheerful displays and colorful awnings that had greeted their arrival had been hastily dragged inside. The shops now looked deserted and unfriendly in the growing gloom, with shutters drawn across the windows. The statue loomed ahead in the darkness, Starling and Perilous watching the horizon as if they, too, were waiting for the deadly storm to break.

CRASH!

Angus flinched as a long streak of lightning struck out, illuminating ghastly bruiselike greens and yellows hidden deep within the clouds. The edge of the weather vortex had finally reached Little Frog's Bottom. It was the most frightening storm he'd ever seen, worse than the one he'd witnessed through the retrospectacles as it destroyed London. Its tar-black edges hovered with menace.

“We're never going to make it!” Dougal yelled above a sudden howl of angry wind. “We've got to get inside now!”

“We could take shelter inside Cradget's!” Indigo pointed to the puzzle shop as it appeared up ahead.

Angus hammered on the door with his fists, no longer bothering to keep his voice down, hoping that someone would hear him and come to the rescue.

“It's no use. The place looks deserted.” He stepped back and stared up at the shuttered windows.

“The statue! Head for the statue!” Indigo was already running across the cobbles toward it. But the weather was moving much faster than their legs could carry them. There was an infinitesimal moment of calm; then:

BOOOOMMMM!

Giant hailstones exploded through every inch of air around them. Angus was instantly knocked off his feet, his knees scraping against the cobbles. Fish, snails, splinters of wood, a thick soup of raging weather descended upon the square with a ferocious howl. He scrambled to his feet, shielding his face from great gusts of razor rain that sliced at his clothes and slashed through his shoes as if they were made of paper. Something grabbed his arm. It pulled him forcefully across the cobbles, dodging to the left as a nasty squall of scarlet sleeping snow swept past.

Bang!

He tumbled through a small door and fell to his knees again.

Bang!

The noise of the storm subsided abruptly as the door slammed shut, rattling violently on its hinges. Dougal, soaked to the skin, was bent double beside him. Indigo had guided them both to the safety of the statue.

“Come on!” She led the way up a long spiral staircase to the inside of Philip Starling's head, where windows looked out over every part of the square.

“I can't see anything except foggy hailstones, giant
electrified snowflakes, and that horrible rancid rain!” Dougal said, racing over to Philip Starling's nearest nostril, where another window had been placed.

Angus stared at the deadly weather battering the statue. The rest of the square had disappeared beneath sheets of raging weather. The storm made a dreadful noise, howling, pounding, and snatching at the windows. There was another sound, too, closer, inside the statue. Angus swung around. An open window was banging against its catch.

“Shut that window before the weather gets inside!” He raced across the head to help Indigo, but it was already too late. Long fingers of murderous mist had crept inside. The mist advanced swiftly, grabbing Dougal and bundling him up tightly. Angus swerved to the left, trying to dodge the mist before it could trap him, too, and failed.

“This stuff doesn't feel the same as the mist in the storm hollow!” Angus said, struggling against the tight coils, which had already started to pull in against his rib cage.

“That's because it's combined itself with that stupid stinging fog that Catcher Hornbuckle discovered on the Imbur marshes,” Dougal spluttered, barely keeping his head above the foggy curls. “It's murderous stinging fog now!”

“What! How can you tell?”

His question was answered a second later as the murderous stinging fog delivered a sharp stab of pain to the side of his neck.

“Ow!” The fog had a tight grip on him now and was refusing to let go no matter how hard he wiggled his shoulders from side to side. “What's wrong with this stuff? Why won't it give way?”