The Lightning Catcher (26 page)

“This is more like it.” Dougal grinned, helping himself to three sausage rolls and a mug of hot chocolate.

Not quite so exciting, however, was the emergency first-aid station that Doctor Fleagal had set up in the far corner. It was stocked with bandages and splints, and Angus looked away quickly, hoping that none of them would need to visit it.

A moment later, Miss DeWinkle called for attention, and a hush fell.

“Welcome to the second fog field trip of the season,” she said, her eyes glittering. She was dressed for the occasion in a long silvery coat and knitted yellow hat. “Tonight you will experience the wonders of the famous midnight fog. Do not be alarmed when the fog first engulfs you; remember your training from the cloud gardens, and try not to bump into one another.”

Angus peered at the dark skies above, wondering how they were supposed to know when the fog had actually arrived.

“According to the forecasting department, the midnight fog will be approaching from the east in approximately fifteen minutes' time. So, if everyone will check that their weather watches are working correctly . . .”

Angus stared at his watch, which already showed the first dense swirls of fog threatening to block out the twinkling stars above.

“And your McFangus guides should now be open at the beginning of chapter twelve.”

Angus pulled his fog guide out of his pocket, trying to hide the worst of the sticky tape from Miss DeWinkle.

“According to the McFangus guide, one of the most famous characteristics of midnight fog is—”

Miss DeWinkle stopped abruptly, her gaze traveling upward, and a second later, Angus understood why. Something small, round, and fiery shot across the sky. It fizzled out above their heads with a noise like an exploding firework.

He watched as three more fiery balls followed, and before any of them knew what was happening, the whole sky was alight with bright sparks and streaks of golden light. It was a dazzling display, and the entire roof turned as one to admire it.

“Nobody said anything about a fireworks display, did they?” asked Indigo.

“Those aren't fireworks,” said Angus as another batch of bright lights sped across the sky. “They look more like shooting stars to me.”

“Shooting stars?” Dougal frowned, his glasses glinting in the golden bursts of light. “But they can't be. Shooting stars usually burn up when they enter the earth's atmosphere, before they get anywhere near the ground.”

Shooting stars or not, however, it seemed they were determined to get as close to the ground as possible. And a moment later, fiery chunks of rock began to rain down on Perilous in large numbers, like burning missiles. They scorched the night air with hot trails of flame, landing with great sizzles in buckets of rainwater, causing clouds of billowing steam to swamp the roof. The admiring
ooohhs
and
aaahhs
from the watching crowd suddenly faltered.

“This has something to do with Dankhart!” said Angus. And he knew that, just like the storm globes, just like the showers of newts, frogs, and snorkel beetles, the shooting stars were no accident. They had been sent straight from Castle Dankhart to cause as much chaos and confusion as possible.

“Dankhart must be planning something,” said Angus, pulling Dougal and Indigo to the side as trainees and lightning catchers began to scatter in every direction, running for cover. “He must have found the map! Or guessed where the vaults are!”

“What?” Dougal dropped the remains of a sausage roll he'd been nibbling, in alarm. “How in the name of Perilous did you work that one out?”

“It's the shooting stars, or whatever they really are,” said Indigo, understanding immediately. “If Dankhart has decided to go looking for the vaults, then he'd need to arrange a huge distraction, something that would keep everyone really busy putting out fires and give him enough time to open the vaults without being disturbed. And snorkel beetles and frogs just wouldn't be enough.”

At that moment, Gudgeon bolted past them; one of his boots had clearly been hit by a burning rock and was leaving a trail of burning rubber behind him. “Well, don't just stand there gawping like idiots, you three,” he yelled. “Run for it!”

They didn't need to be told twice. Angus shoved his fog guide hastily into his pocket and dashed quickly toward the trapdoor, dodging to avoid the burning missiles that continued to bombard the roof. He sprinted past Catcher Sparks, who was leaping into a large bucket of rainwater to stop the hem of her coat from going up in flames. He almost collided with Principal Dark-Angel, who was directing several startled trainees through an obstacle course of smoldering debris.

“Hey!” yelled Dougal from behind, as Angus swerved to avoid the first-aid station, which had quickly gone up in brightly colored flames. “You've dropped your fog guide again, and your letter's fallen out of its envelope. Here—”

Angus spun round to take it from him, only to find that Dougal had stopped in his tracks, his brows knitted together.

“Come on!” Indigo yelled, running back to join them. “We can't stand around here reading letters. We've got to get inside quickly!” She grabbed Dougal by the arm and attempted to drag him toward the safety of the Exploratorium.

Dougal ignored her and remained rooted to the spot. “Why didn't you mention these spelling mistakes in your mum's letter before?” he asked, suddenly sounding agitated.

“Why didn't I . . . what?”

“Didn't you ever consider that your mum might have misspelled all these words on purpose?” said Dougal, gripping the letter tightly.

“Why would she bother doing that?” Angus glanced up at the sky, where several more burning missiles were heading in their direction with alarming speed. “Look, I think Indigo's right. We'd better talk about this inside.”

But before they could get anywhere near the safety of the building, shards of burning rock exploded over their heads, showering the roof in flames. They dove for cover behind the weather balloon.

“It all makes perfect sense, when you think about it,” Dougal continued, completely ignoring the chaos all around them. “They couldn't just send it to you, or anyone could have seen what it was. . . . they had to hide it, and if I'm right . . .”

Angus and Indigo exchanged puzzled glances. “R-Right about what, exactly?” Indigo asked.

“It's all about this letter.” Dougal grinned as if he'd just been given an unexpected birthday present. “This brilliant, amazing, ingenious letter! I would have realized what it really was sooner”—he turned to Angus—“only when you read the letter to me that time, you corrected all your mother's spelling mistakes as you were going along. You only read out what you thought she meant to say—not what she'd actually written.”

Angus stared at his friend, wondering if he'd been hit on the head by a burning missile and was now hallucinating.

“But . . . that letter's just a load of boring stuff about my relatives,” he said.

“Trust me, there's a lot more to it than that.” Dougal grinned. “I've read enough Archibald Humble-Pea to recognize a secret coded message when I see one.”

“Archibald who?” asked Indigo, confused.

“Humble-Pea. He wrote a book on secret codes and how to crack them. Dougal's dad sent it to him ages ago, and he's been obsessed with it ever since.”

“Yeah, and it's a good thing I have been, too.” Dougal said. “I'm telling you, this letter is important. Look, I'll show you, it starts off with some waffling old gibberish about your uncle Max, but then we get to this: ‘Sorry we've both been so busy lately, but you've been the Koolest about it, as I was telling Taunt Pamela the other day on the phone, which reminds me, Angus, I forgot to mention that she will be visiting us again during the next school holidays, I will have to try Very hard to remember this time that she's allergic to your uncle's snail-and-seaweed pie, Ands that Uncl Lars won't drink anything but that revolting Trim Skim milk.'”

“So? I still don't get it,” Angus said, ducking as yet another missile exploded overhead. “How can anything about my uncle Lars be a secret code?”

“It's got nothing to do with either of your uncles, actually,” declared Dougal. “It's all about capital letters. According to Archibald Humble-Pea, the presence of a capital letter in the middle of a sentence often denotes the start of a secret message. So in this case, the message starts with the word Koolest, see?” he said, pointing to the word. “Then each word that follows Koolest with a capital letter is also a part of the same message. So that's Koolest, Taunt, Pamela, Angus, Very, Ands, Uncle, Lars, Trim, Skim.” Dougal took a pencil out of his pocket and started writing the words down at the bottom of the letter.

“Next we've got to take the last three letters off each word that begins with a capital letter, except for Angus, 'cause that's your name,” he explained, half talking to himself as he did just that, “so then we're left with Kool, Ta, Pam, Angus . . . followed by V-A-U-L-T-S.”

“Vaults!” Angus gasped, staring at the letters on the page. “The lightning vaults!”

His head was suddenly spinning. This was what Principal Dark-Angel and Scabious Dankhart had both been trying so desperately to find. And he'd had it all along!

“So what's next?” he asked urgently. “How do we finish deciphering the code?”

“According to Humble-Pea, all we've got to do then is reverse the remaining words,” said Dougal, his pencil shaking with excitement. “So Kool, Ta, Pam, Angus, V-A-U-L-T-S becomes . . . Look At Map Angus—VAULTS!”

They all stared at the piece of paper, utterly flabbergasted.

“Your mum's not such a terrible speller after all,” said Dougal, beaming. “She meant to write every single word exactly as it appears. This letter is a secret message—and it's trying to tell us how to find the lightning vaults.”

And despite the fact that they were stranded in the middle of a shower of deadly burning missiles, with nothing to protect them but a weather balloon, Angus couldn't help grinning.

“Dougal—you're amazing!” said Indigo, staring at him properly for the first time in two weeks. “I never would have worked that out.”

“Oh, well, it was just a bit of bedtime reading, really,” Dougal said, looking embarrassed and highly flattered all at the same time. “Your mum and dad must have posted this letter to you just before they were kidnapped,” he added, turning toward Angus.

“And I've been stuffing it in bags, drawers, and fog guides ever since.”

“So all we've got to do now is work out what ‘Look At Map' actually means,” said Indigo, “and it could lead us straight to the lightning vaults.”

Angus stared at the collection of words, commas, and sentences on the page again and felt a sudden sinking in his stomach. The letter looked nothing like a map. There was nothing scribbled on the back, either—no secret symbols, codes, or clues, no set of directions. He had absolutely no idea how on earth it was going to lead them to anything.

“Don't panic.” Dougal rolled up his sleeves, looking more determined than ever. “There's loads of ways they could have concealed a secret map in that letter. They could have used invisible ink, for a start; then there's waterproof ink, of course, or stuff that can only be seen by moonlight. . . . If it's in there, I'll find it.”

At that moment, there was a loud
CRACK
above their heads. Angus looked up just in time to see a huge chunk of burning rock, five times bigger than all the rest, explode in the night sky, sending hot showers of fire tumbling toward the ground.

“We've got to get inside—now!” Indigo yelled, as the weather balloon they were sheltering behind was struck by a flying missile and began to burn.

They ran toward the Exploratorium, hands over their heads, shoes smoking underfoot. Indigo flung herself toward the open trapdoor that led straight back down to the Octagon and tumbled inside; Dougal followed, falling through the door with a painful-looking belly flop. Angus threw himself toward the safety of the cool stairs as another burning rock exploded overhead, this one much closer than any of the others. He stumbled on the uneven surface, the letter fluttering from his fingers.

“The letter, I've dropped the letter!” he shouted, scrambling around on his hands and knees. He reached out to grab the precious sheet of paper as it floated gracefully toward the ground—but it was too late. The letter had been hit. Stray sparks seared through the paper, and within seconds, hungry yellow flames had consumed it.

“NO!”

Angus watched, horrified, as the letter burned to a crisp, leaving nothing behind but a pile of hot ashes. The only hope he'd had of finding the lightning vaults had just gone up in smoke.

  
15
  

THE LIGHTNING VAULTS

“W
hat are we supposed to do now?” Angus said forlornly, kneeling beside the ashes.

“Oh, Angus, I'm so sorry!” Indigo groaned, sinking to her knees next to him. Both she and Dougal had raced back out onto the roof as soon as they'd seen him fall. “We'll just have to find Principal Dark-Angel, tell her everything we know, and hope that she believes us.”

Dougal bent down and began raking through the ashes, looking for anything that remained of the letter. There was nothing left except one curled-up corner. He grasped it gently between his fingers and pulled, rescuing a surprisingly large but badly damaged square of paper from beneath the smoldering pile. For some strange reason, he also appeared to be smiling.

“You'd better take a look at this before you go running off to Dark-Angel,” he said, handing the wafer-thin square over to Angus.

Singed to a deep tea-leaf brown, it felt crisp and fragile between his fingers. But the heat from the flames had produced a startling effect.

“I don't believe it,” Angus gasped. Scorched deep into the paper like a burn was a tiny, perfectly formed map of Perilous, which clearly showed the exact location of—and the hidden entrance to—the lightning vaults.

“But . . . I don't understand. I—I watched the letter burn. There was nothing left.”

“Flambeaux!” Dougal said, grinning.

Indigo frowned. “Excuse me?”

“That map's been drawn on flambeaux paper. I remember my dad talking about this stuff ages ago; it's tissue thin and incredibly strong. The lightning catchers sometimes use it in the desert and other hot places where their scientific notes could catch fire and go up in smoke. You can throw it into a fire and it won't even burn. Which also makes it perfect for hiding important stuff you don't want anyone else to read, of course,” he explained eagerly. “Your mum and dad must have sandwiched this piece of flambeaux between two thick sheets of ordinary paper—which obviously went up in flames the instant they got hit, leaving us with the secret map!”

Angus suddenly remembered his own uncle Max and the burning letter that Gudgeon had delivered to the Windmill, on the very night that his world had changed forever.

“Let's get inside before anything else happens to it; we can't look at it properly out here,” he said, ducking as more burning chunks of rock soared through the night sky.

Once they were inside, however, they discovered that the Octagon was jam-packed with lightning cubs, all showing off their singed coats and melted boots and discussing the mystery of the burning missiles in loud, animated voices. Just to add to the confusion, at least fifty lightning catchers, armed with buckets of sand and water, were also trying to push their way through the crowds in the opposite direction. For ten minutes, it was almost impossible to move in any direction.

Eventually, Indigo managed to force her way down the stairs and through a door that led to a small private library full of ancient-looking maps. She dragged Angus and Dougal inside with her. Warm yellow light fissures crackled overhead as Angus laid the scorched paper carefully on a desk, gently smoothing down the curled-up corners.

It was really more of a rough sketch than a map. Scribbled down in jet-black ink, with spidery lines and writings, it showed the approximate location of the Lightnarium, the experimental division, and the forecasting department.

“This is really old,” Indigo said, inspecting it closely. “It's been signed by Edgar Perilous and Philip Starling. They must have drawn it when the lightning vaults were first built.”

“Yeah, and it looks like the entrance is hidden somewhere on the second floor, down the east corridor,” said Angus, running his finger over the spot where the vaults had been clearly marked with an odd, fractured-looking lightning bolt. “Hang on a minute, though . . . that corridor doesn't even exist anymore. If you follow the stairs up from the kitchens, you come to a dead end right outside—”

“The weather tunnel!” Indigo finished.

Dougal gulped. “The weather tunnel must have been built over the top of the vaults. No wonder nobody's found them for all these years. Who'd be crazy enough to go searching in there? They're probably buried under half a ton of snow, or half a ton of fog yeti. So what now?” he asked, looking warily at them both. “Do we take this to Principal Dark-Angel, or what?”

Angus thought hard for a moment, then shook his head. He'd seen Principal Dark-Angel frantically trying to organize the lightning catchers and desperately putting out fires. Getting her attention would be almost impossible. But there was also another reason he was reluctant to go to her for help, and it had been nagging at the back of his mind since the moment Dougal had discovered the map.

“My parents sent the map to me,” he said, thinking it through carefully. “If they'd wanted Principal Dark-Angel to see it, why didn't they just send it straight to her in the first place? My mum and dad wanted me to help them for some reason, and that's exactly what I'm going to do. There's something down in those vaults that Dankhart wants to get his hands on, and I've got to stop him. . . .”

“
We've
got to stop him, you mean,” said Indigo, color rising in her cheeks.

“No way.” Angus shook his head. “I can't ask you to help me. It's far too dangerous.”

“Dangerous or not, we're coming with you,” Indigo insisted. “Besides, how else can I ever convince Dougal that I'm not popping up to Castle Dankhart every five minutes for cups of tea with my dear old uncle Scabby.”

Dougal flushed a violent red. “Well, I never actually said . . . that obviously just goes to show . . . I mean, of course we're coming with you! But if there
is
something monstrous lurking in those vaults, and if it decides I'm on the dinner menu . . .”

Angus grinned, feeling immensely grateful to them both.

“It looks like the entrance is buried in the blizzard section,” he said, turning back to the map and studying it carefully. “If we take a shortcut through the kitchens, we'll only have to poke our heads through the door and we'll probably be able to see it.”

They left the room, sneaking past Catcher Mint, who was now ordering all lightning cubs back to their rooms, and then sprinted as fast as their legs would allow through the Exploratorium.

But as soon as they reached the kitchens, it was clear that several shooting stars had come crashing through the ceiling, filling the room with smoking rubble and debris.

“No, you'll just have to go without supper this evening, I'm afraid.” A flustered Miss DeWinkle stopped them at the door, refusing to let them go any farther. “We'll all be eating yesterday's leftovers for breakfast as it is.”

They turned and retraced their steps, deciding their only choice now was to enter the tunnel from the other end. Angus could vividly recall struggling through the tropical rainstorms, thick fogs, and deep snowdrifts of the treacherous weather tunnel on his very first day at Perilous, and he wasn't looking forward to doing it again. But if it was the only way they could reach the lightning vaults . . .

He skidded to a halt before the circular door set in the middle of the wall, Dougal and Indigo close behind him. “Whatever happens inside this tunnel, we've all got to stick together, agreed?” he said.

Dougal and Indigo nodded solemnly. But it appeared that they would be spared the effort of battling against gale-force winds at the very least, as the first section of the tunnel was surprisingly still and silent, and they ran through it quickly before it could change its mind and send a hurricane chasing after them.

It was only after they had passed through the weather lock and entered the next section of the tunnel that their troubles truly began.

“WOW!” gasped Angus as he tugged the door open and was hit by a sudden blast of intense heat.

The tropical palm trees of the rain forest were gone. In their place was a mini desert, complete with large sand dunes and what looked like an oasis in the distance. A dazzling fake sun was shining overhead, and more worrying still, a nasty sandstorm was gathering strength on the horizon, whirling around in tight, frantic circles.

“Principal Dark-Angel must be planning an expedition to the desert,” said Indigo, sounding impressed.

“Either that, or a giant sandcastle-building competition,” said Dougal, wiping his clammy forehead with a handkerchief.

“According to my weather watch, those sand dunes have been shipped straight in from the Sahara,” Angus informed them. “It says there's a ninety percent chance that we'll start seeing mirages if we cross it, and there's also a severe risk of sunstroke. It's a hundred and four degrees Fahrenheit in there.”

Dougal gulped. “So what you're saying is, if we set one foot inside that tunnel we'll be baked alive!”

Indigo, however, was already rolling up her coat sleeves, a determined look on her face. “But if it's the only way we can get to the lightning vaults . . .”

It was like stepping into an overheated oven. The sand scorched the soles of their feet, even through the bottom of their boots, and the air was chokingly dry. The dunes were also extremely difficult to walk across, and their feet sank deeply into the sand, sliding backward with every step they took. After five minutes, they were still battling their way up the steep, shifting slopes of the first dune.

“Inflatable snowshoes!” said Angus, struck by a sudden idea as he stopped to catch his breath. “Remember Catcher Mint told us they stop you from sinking into the snow? Well, I bet they work just as well on sand.”

The snowshoes performed brilliantly, inflating automatically and making it much easier to scale the sand dune. When they finally reached the top, however, they were engulfed by the raging sandstorm, which was now much bigger and more violent. They kept walking, blinded by the storm. Angus covered his face with his hands, but the flying grains of sand whipped at his ears and nose, and he was soon spluttering and stumbling in all directions. Finally, after circling the oasis three or four times, they reached the far side of the tunnel, only to find their exit blocked by a huge sand-colored boulder.