The Lightning Catcher (27 page)

Angus leaned his shoulder against it, pushing with all his might. But the rock was firmly embedded in the sand and refused to budge. He tried again, putting all his weight behind it this time. As he did so, the rock gave a loud warning hiss and turned to glare at him through long, curly eyelashes.

“That's not a rock.” Dougal staggered backward in surprise. “That's a camel!”

The camel had been seeking shelter from the storm, hump resting up against the exit. And it was now looking rather grumpy.

“The weather tunnelers must have hauled it in from the Sahara, too,” said Dougal, sounding deeply impressed.

Angus frowned. “Yeah, but how are we supposed to get past it?”

“Maybe one of us could . . . could get on it and steer it out of the way,” suggested Indigo.

“Yeah, it might just work!” Angus agreed, desperate for any idea. “Dougal's the smallest, so he can do the steering.”

Dougal choked, swallowing a mouthful of sand. “I'm not steering that thing anywhere!”

“I'm sure the camel's not exactly thrilled about the idea either, but unless you've got any better suggestions . . .” Angus shrugged.

And before Dougal could start arguing again, Angus was giving him a leg up onto the camel's back. The creature took an instant dislike to Dougal, however, who accidentally kicked it under the chin as he climbed on top of its hump, and it stood up suddenly, shaking him off like an unwanted flea. It then sneezed in a spectacular fashion, showering Dougal in warm, dribbling saliva.

“Urgh!” Dougal groaned, wiping his face with the back of his hand. “I've just swallowed camel spit!”

But the camel had had enough, and it walked away moodily. Angus pulled the door open and pushed his friends into the small chamber beyond, before it could return.

The next section of the tunnel, which had previously contained the damp, boggy moor, complete with swirling fog and spine-chilling growls, had been packed up completely and was now standing unused and empty.

Thankfully, the only signs that a fog yeti had ever been anywhere near the weather tunnel were a large bed, made from woven twigs and moss and covered with hairy-looking blankets, and a pile of bones that had obviously been gnawed on—recently.

“You don't think those are human bones, do you?” asked Dougal, gulping.

There was no time to investigate, and they crept quietly across the empty space as quickly as they could.

The last section of the tunnel still contained a frozen wasteland filled with deep snowdrifts and icicles; it was also in the grip of a raging blizzard. A fierce wind whipped the flakes into a frenzy, making it difficult to see more than a few feet ahead. After the hot stickiness of the desert, the freezing air chilled them to their bones, and they made very slow progress, slipping and bruising elbows and knees on the hard, icy surface. They quickly reinflated their emergency snowshoes.

Angus plowed on through the deep drifts, hoping that they weren't already too late, that Dankhart hadn't somehow found the lightning vaults before them.

He was just wondering if he should consult the map again, for any clues he might have missed, when his foot slipped and he stopped abruptly. Stretching across the entire width of the tunnel in front of them was a large semifrozen lake. It definitely hadn't been there the last time they'd been through the blizzard section. Several icebergs drifted across its surface like vast, ice-laden ships.

“Well, we c-c-can't cross that.” Dougal shivered, his face shimmering with tiny ice crystals. “The ice wouldn't hold our weight for a s-s-second; we'd be up to our necks in freezing water before you could say h-h-hypothermia.”

“Then we've got to find a boat or a raft,” said Angus, scanning the barren tunnel around them. “There must be an old dog sled or something in here we can use. . . .”

“Oh, but there is!” Indigo's face suddenly brightened. “And I bet it's easily big enough to hold all three of us. Come with me!”

“But we're heading in the wrong direction,” Angus pointed out as Indigo led them back the way they'd just come, through the weather seal and into the empty section of the weather tunnel once again.

Dougal frowned. “What have you brought us in here for?”

“Because we can cross the lake in that!” Indigo pointed toward the large bed that they'd crept past earlier.

Angus swallowed hard. There was just one tiny flaw in Indigo's plan. While they had been battling their way through the snow and ice, the fog yeti had returned from its wanderings, and was now fast asleep in its bed, snoring its head off.

“Y-y-y-yeti!” Dougal gasped in a terrified whisper.

It was the first time any of them had seen it properly. Angus stared at the massive creature, with its great shaggy pelt, feet the size of garbage-can lids, and long, deadly claws.

“If you think I'm riding that thing, you've got another think coming,” said Dougal urgently.

But Indigo had another suggestion this time. “Why doesn't one of us distract it instead, while the other two grab the bed and make a run for it?”

“How are we supposed to distract a thing like that?” asked Dougal.

Indigo gulped. “W-we could try throwing it a bone.”

Angus stared at the snoring creature, feeling it would be safer to kick a large wasp nest.

“I'll do the distracting,” he offered. “Just do me a favor, okay? When you two have grabbed the bed—don't forget to come back and grab me. That thing looks like it could take a polar bear down with one swipe!”

He tiptoed toward the monstrous creature, wondering if he had ever had a less brilliant idea in his life.

It wasn't until they'd almost reached the bed that the yeti woke up, with one loud grunt, and made eye contact with Angus.

“Just get ready to run, okay?” he said, feeling around his feet for a bone.

The yeti growled dangerously, its black eyes boring into Angus.

“Er . . . I don't want to worry anyone,” said Dougal, starting to back away, “but I think that yeti thinks you're trying to steal its dinner.”

The creature was on its feet in one swift movement, ready to pounce.

“RUN!” Dougal yelled.

Angus turned and sprinted, the yeti thundering after him with great lolloping strides. Angus swerved quickly to the left, and then to the right, desperately trying to shake it off, but the yeti was surprisingly agile for its size. Angus could feel its hot, sticky breath warming the back of his neck. He could also feel his own legs beginning to buckle beneath him.

His whole life at Perilous suddenly flashed before his eyes. He couldn't believe it was about to be over, before it had ever really begun. He would never learn what was lurking behind the door to the Inner Sanctum of Secrets; he would never experience an invisible fog or have the great pleasure of hiding a storm globe in Percival Vellum's bed. . . .

He urged his exhausted legs onward, his muscles screaming, lungs bursting, desperately hoping that the yeti might turn out to be a vegetarian after all. And he was just about to shut his eyes and wait for the end to come, when suddenly—

CLANG!

A heavy door was thrust open, and he was being lifted off his feet and dragged hastily into the wintry end of the weather tunnel. The door slammed shut again, then—

“Try throwing it a bone!” yelled Dougal, furious with Indigo. “Have you gone completely mental? Angus almost ended up as yeti food, thanks to you!”

“I'm sorry! But what else were we supposed to do?”

Angus lay panting on the floor, clutching his ribs. He'd never been so happy to hear two people arguing in his life. He couldn't help grinning.

Ten minutes later, all three of them were back at the frozen lake. It was an extremely tricky business paddling across the icy water in a large yeti bed, especially as they had to use the gnawed bones as paddles, and they almost capsized twice. Finally, however, after a very close encounter with a hidden iceberg, they made it to the far shore.

“The lightning vaults have to be around here somewhere,” said Angus as soon as their feet touched solid snow again.

He took the map out of his pocket and studied it once more, still feeling mildly euphoric that he'd just escaped the fog yeti. He could almost feel the lightning vaults now, just waiting to be discovered somewhere in the snow and ice. . . .

“Over there!” he said, pointing to a small igloo up ahead of them. “The vaults have to be somewhere near that igloo. There's nothing beyond that except the door that leads back down to the kitchens. Look for anything that's been marked with a fractured lightning bolt.”

He began to run toward the igloo, plowing through the deep, soft snow. Here and there the snow had begun to melt, revealing what looked like a gray stone floor beneath it. They crawled around in the slush, their hands and knees getting colder and wetter as they searched. Angus was just beginning to wonder if they were going to have to dig their way through some of the larger drifts when he spotted a familiar symbol etched into the corner of a cracked slab.

The symbol had obviously faded over the years so that the bottom half had worn away completely, but there was no mistaking what it had once been, and Angus felt his heart skip several beats as he stared at the outline of a fractured lightning bolt.

“I've found it!” he gasped. “I've found the lightning vaults!”

He pushed the snow aside. It was clear that the entrance was still intact, that no one else had reached it before them. There was a jagged crack running the full length of the slab, however, as if somebody at some time might have tried to break it open. Angus ran his hand over the stone and felt a cool breeze coming up through his fingers. He was certain that there was something deep, dark, and hollow beneath. He pressed his ear to the stone, half expecting to hear the muffled roar of some ferocious creature that had been trapped for hundreds of years. But everything was quiet.

He sat back on his heels and was just wondering how they were going to get into the actual vaults when the stone slab wobbled, with a sudden, eerie groan, as if it were waking from a very long sleep.

“Angus—get back!” Indigo screamed.

Angus scrambled to his feet as a terrible
CRACK
split the air, but it was already too late. The gray slab crumbled to dust beneath him, and he was suddenly plummeting headlong down a long stone shaft into cold, rushing darkness.

  
16
  

THE NEVER-ENDING STORM

T
HUD!
He'd landed on something thick and soft. All the wind had been knocked out of his lungs, but with a flood of relief he realized he definitely wasn't dead.

“Angus!” Indigo called frantically from a long way above him, her head appearing over the edge of the doorway he'd just fallen through. “Angus! Oh, thank goodness . . . are you all right?”

“I'm fine!” he yelled back, his voice cracking with relief. “I landed on some furs or something. Don't jump down, though,” he warned. “Go and get some rope or a ladder!”

He was sure he wouldn't be able to climb back up into the weather tunnel by himself, and whatever he found in the lightning vaults . . . he was certain he would need help with that too. Deep, dark holes had never been a part of his plan.

“Just stay where you are until we get back!” yelled Dougal, peering down at him.

“Well, I can't exactly go anywhere else, can I?”

He heard the sound of their urgent mumblings for a few seconds longer. Then they disappeared, and everything went quiet.

Angus sat on the floor, allowing his eyes to grow used to the dark, although he couldn't see much more when they had. He had fallen into a deep pit; that much was obvious. Judging by the dank smell that was now filling his nostrils, nobody had been down here for a very long time.

He got carefully to his feet. Up ahead, he could just make out what appeared to be a narrow passageway leading down into the cold, dark rock. There were no signs of any fulgurites or experimentation. And Angus was certain that he hadn't fallen into the inner core of the vaults.

He glanced up at the small square of light above his head, hoping he could find his way back to it again, and then began to inch along the slimy walls of the passageway, thick, black nothingness pressing in on him from all sides. Every tiny noise, every rasp of his own breath sounded monstrously loud in the silent tunnel, and he almost yelled out loud when a spider landed on his shoulder. But finally, after what felt like hours, his fingers touched another wall directly in front of him. He stopped dead, his heart beating loudly. Had he found the fabled lightning vaults at last?

He checked swiftly over his shoulder, making sure nothing was creeping up on him in the dark, and was stunned to realize that he was no longer alone. A small light was bobbing down the passageway behind him, getting closer by the second. It couldn't be his friends already, could it? Had somebody followed him down the hole? He almost choked when he saw who it was.

“Mr. Knurling?” he said in a hoarse voice as the librarian emerged from the shadows, dressed in a long, warm coat, carrying an oil lamp. “But . . . what are you doing down here, sir?” The librarian was slightly out of breath, as if he'd been running. He was the last person Angus had ever expected to find in a secret passageway.

“Listen, sir,” he continued in a hurry, glad that he was no longer alone in the darkness. “I think Scabious Dankhart is coming to find the lightning vaults. We have to get some help, now!”

Mr. Knurling shook his head. “Impossible. Principal Dark-Angel is extremely busy putting out fires.”

“Well, Rogwood then, or Gudgeon, it doesn't matter who. We've just got to get help before Dankhart gets here.”

“Oh, I'm afraid it's far too late for that,” said the librarian, a strange smirk on his face.

“W-what?” Angus glanced swiftly over Mr. Knurling's shoulder, wondering if he'd missed somebody else concealed deep within the shadows of the pitch-black passageway. There was also something very odd about the way the librarian was looking at him. Something odd about the way he was standing so calmly at the entrance to the lightning vaults when, at any second, Scabious Dankhart could sneak up behind them. Was Mr. Knurling still suffering from his hailstone concussion?

“Sir, look, I don't think you understand—” he began again urgently.

“On the contrary, Angus McFangus,” the librarian interrupted. “I understand everything perfectly. It is
you
who is in the dark.”

And with one swift movement, he removed the greasy monocle from his right eye, scooped out his own eyeball with a stomach-churning squelch, and replaced it with something from his pocket. Even in the darkness, Angus could tell that it was a large, black, glittering diamond.

“Dankhart!” Angus tried to take a step back and found himself already pressed hard against the cold wall.

He watched in disbelief as Dankhart calmly removed his stiff blond wig. Underneath it was a mass of tangled black hair that fell to his shoulders in knots. His neat white teeth, too, were nothing more than a sham, a false set to disguise his own shriveled stumps. Angus flinched as Dankhart spat them out, then peeled a tight layer of rubbery skin off his face to reveal deep pocks and scars beneath. The hideous transformation was complete. And Angus suddenly realized, with a sick feeling, that Dougal had been right. Despite all of her protestations, there was a strange and terrible family resemblance between Indigo and her villainous uncle, in the length of their necks and the hollows of their cheeks. But where Indigo's face was kind and friendly, Dankhart's was full of malevolent triumph, of dangerous, diamond-clad menace.

“We meet at last, Angus McFangus,” said Dankhart. “What an honor this must be for you.”

Angus felt a deep revulsion in his stomach. “You kidnapped my parents!” he yelled, anger bursting through a wall in his chest. “What have you done with them?”

“Tut tut, Angus, where are your manners? A man of my greatness deserves a little more respect.”

“I don't see what's so great about locking people up in dungeons!”

Dankhart smiled, his diamond eye sparkling.

“You are too young perhaps, to appreciate the full brilliance of my plan. But you must agree that to walk among the lightning catchers for a full term, without a single one of them recognizing me, is a very great achievement indeed. Even the Dark-Angel failed to notice she had an impostor in her midst. How I would love to see the look on her smug face when she learns of the deception. But I am getting carried away with my own brilliance, Angus. There is work to be done in the lightning vaults, and you shall have the great honor of accompanying me.” He took a length of cord from his coat pocket and grabbed Angus.

“Geroff me!” Angus fought hard against the iron grip, desperately trying to free himself, but Dankhart was too strong. He bound Angus's hands tightly behind his back, then pushed him roughly to one side of the tunnel.

Dankhart found a hidden lever near his feet, and with a slow grinding of gears he began to activate the solid stone doors. Angus stared around, desperately searching for a way out. Even if he managed to escape down the stone passageway without being caught, how could he climb out of the hole? He struggled violently against his bonds. He had to free his hands, he had to make a run for it. . . . But the rope held fast, tearing into his skin, and he slumped against the wall.

He watched the great stone doors inch their way apart. Dankhart's smile widened to a repulsive, stumpy sneer. Angus held his breath, waiting, as the vaults were finally revealed.

They were even more magnificent than he'd dared imagine. Dozens of dome-shaped caverns were spread out before them, locked together like a honeycomb. The walls were covered with deep scars, and hundreds upon hundreds of long, frozen lightning bolts were hanging from the ceiling like a colony of misshapen bats.

“Welcome, Angus, to the lightning vaults!” said Dankhart, pushing him inside.

Angus stared down at his feet; he was standing on a rolling sea of solid emerald glass, just as Oswald Blott had described in the holographic history. It gave everything an eerie underwater glow. And despite the fact that he was in the company of a lunatic who was probably going to kill him as soon as he got the chance, Angus was awestruck.

“None who are now living have ever seen this wondrous sight.” Dankhart lit several dusty candles in a bracket on the wall with the flame from his oil lamp. “You should thank me for the great opportunity I have given you.”

Angus wasn't about to thank Dankhart for anything. He glared at the foul, gloating villain who was now parading up and down on the glass floor as if he had built the vaults himself.

“I have waited a very long time for this glorious moment,” said Dankhart. “For years I have been searching endlessly for the lightning vaults. I have stolen every map I could lay my hands on and pored over them, searching for any tiny hidden clue, any hint of their secret whereabouts, but all to no avail. Indeed, I had almost given up all hope of ever finding the vaults when I discovered that the Dark-Angel had instructed two of her most trusted lightning catchers, Alabone and Evangeline McFangus, to search for them. And I knew all I had to do was be patient, and I would be rewarded.

“Eventually, they found the location of the vaults, and before they could inform the Dark-Angel of their discovery, I had them kidnapped.”

“I bet they didn't tell you anything,” Angus shot back angrily, struggling against the rope binding his hands. “They'd never let someone like you know where the vaults were.”

Dankhart's diamond eye glittered malevolently in the candlelight. He swept toward Angus and struck him hard across the face with the back of his hand. A sharp pain shot through Angus's cheekbone, making his eyes stream with water.

“Your parents proved to be far more stubborn than I had anticipated, yes.” Dankhart kept talking, as if nothing had happened. “They would not part with the information I needed, even with a little gentle . . . persuasion.” He grinned nastily, and Angus tried not to imagine what he meant.

“Luck was on my side, however. I discovered, from a very reliable source, that the Dark-Angel had also sent for their one and only son. I knew at once that there could be only one reason for her to do so. She suspected that somehow your parents had sent the map to you. And I instantly dispatched my most capable servants to intercept you, before you could enter the vile walls of this Exploratorium. But that fool Felix Gudgeon set off a storm globe, and they were forced to flee.”

“They didn't try very hard, then, if one tiny storm globe made them run for it,” said Angus, suddenly wanting to make Dankhart angry. “None of the lightning catchers would have been that cowardly—ever!”

“You have a very good opinion of your fellow lightning fools. I wonder if you would still think so highly of them if you knew their true history. Do you know what secret lies within these vaults, Angus McFangus?” asked Dankhart, a lopsided smirk revealing his hideous, pockmarked gums.

Angus didn't answer. Not even Dougal had known what monstrous secret might be lurking in the very depths of the vaults.

“Come then, Angus.” Dankhart grabbed his shoulder and shoved him toward one of the largest caverns at the back of the vaults. “Let me show you what your lightning-catcher heroes have created in their greed for knowledge and greatness.”