The Lightning Catcher (28 page)

Angus stumbled, staggering sideways into walls and pillars, until at last they stopped in front of a solitary storm globe that had been placed carefully on a marble pedestal. Five times the size of any normal globe, it was extremely old and angry looking and covered in a fine layer of dust. There were several small cracks running across its surface, and a violent storm was raging inside it, charging the air around it with dangerous electricity. Angus could feel the power of the storm crawling over his skin, and he shuddered.

“Almost three hundred and fifty years ago now, the lightning catchers created a never-ending storm,” said Dankhart, pacing around the pedestal. “You see it before you now, Angus, a triumph over nature itself, a glorious, wondrous achievement never before seen in this world. Its sole purpose was to produce a constant supply of lightning here, within the safety of the vaults, lightning that could be ripped apart and studied for the greater good of man.” Dankhart sneered. “But once again the lightning catchers underestimated the glorious power of this magnificent force of nature. The storm got loose during one of their more ambitious experiments, causing chaos and destruction. The lightning vaults were evacuated immediately. But unbeknownst to those who fled, two young trainees, desperate to see the never-ending storm for themselves, had crept into the vaults and hidden, and they were left behind. The storm struck with its full force . . . and both were killed.”

Angus shuddered, picturing every detail of the tragic scene.

“Their names,” Dankhart continued, “were Jacob Starling and Fabian Perilous.”

Angus understood instantly and felt a sudden wave of nausea. The awful double calamity had robbed both Philip Starling and Edgar Perilous of their own young sons.

“Ashamed of the terrible accident they had caused, vowing that no such catastrophe would ever occur again, the lightning catchers sealed these vaults forever,” continued Dankhart. “They entombed the storm in a glass sphere, hoping to contain it and the dark stain on their history for all eternity. I, however, have a much better use for it.”

“What are you going to do with it?” asked Angus, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on Dankhart and the globe.

“Why, I intend to release it, of course. This storm has the power to destroy entire islands, whole cities if I allow it; to wreak havoc and cause delicious mayhem. The era of the dreary lightning catchers is over,” Dankhart crowed with triumph, and his voice echoed horribly through the vaults. “It is time that I, Scabious Dankhart, take my place as the true lord and master of the weather! And who better to test the power of the storm than you?” He ripped the coat from around his shoulders, revealing a thick lightning deflector suit beneath. Around his neck was a shiny brass instrument. Angus recognized it immediately. It was a storm snare.

He froze under Dankhart's black diamond glare, finally understanding the villain's plan. Dankhart was going to watch him fight for his life, while he himself stood safe and protected from the vicious power of the never-ending storm. And when it was over . . . Dankhart would capture the storm inside the snare and sneak it out of Perilous.

Somehow he had to stall Dankhart. He needed time to think, to plan his next move. Nobody was coming to help him now, Angus realized with a sinking feeling in his stomach. Dougal and Indigo had obviously run into trouble on their way to fetch help, and none of the lightning catchers were even aware that he was in danger.

It was all happening just as Dankhart had planned. All except for one tiny, hope-filled fact—Angus was a storm prophet. For the first time ever, he knew it was true, and he felt a thrill of excitement. It was the only chance he had of escaping the vaults alive.

“Wait!” he yelled as Dankhart reached for the globe. “I don't understand. W-why have you been pretending to be a librarian all this time?”

Dankhart hesitated, his hand hovering. “And why would a boy who is about to die wish to know that?”

“To understand,” Angus said, thinking quickly, “to understand the brilliance of your plan.”

Dankhart studied him shrewdly for a moment.

“Very well. It is perhaps only fitting that you learn of my true greatness before you perish,” he said with an air of supreme arrogance. “When my servants failed me so badly at the pier, I was forced to act swiftly. I could not risk the map falling into the Dark-Angel's hands, never to be seen again. I saw only one way forward—to continue the search myself. And once again, fortune gave me the ideal opportunity,” Dankhart said. “I already knew that the old librarian had been trusted to hire his own replacement, and that he had chosen a man named Knurling. I also knew that nobody else would meet this replacement until the day he arrived at Perilous. My plan was brilliantly simple. I persuaded Mr. Knurling that I should take up his position instead. Once inside these walls, I was beyond suspicion. I continued my search unhindered.

“Unfortunately, the Dark-Angel had seen to it that others were also joining Perilous at the same time, including my own very disappointing niece. A poor addition to the Dankhart family, just like her weak and feeble mother. But Indigo Midnight will be dealt with, when the time is right.” Dankhart spat on the floor, and Angus felt a violent chill shivering through his body.

“I had to pick you out from the other forgettable trainees, a task that proved far trickier than I had imagined. I therefore arranged to have some interesting amphibious showers sent over to serve as a distraction while I searched for more information.”

Angus thought of the frogs falling over Buckingham Palace but said nothing. He glanced swiftly around the lightning vaults, looking desperately for a way out. But the tight honeycomb structure appeared to be sealed in all directions; there were no other doors or exits except the one he had just come through.

“I began to search every room I could think of in an attempt to discover your identity. But all to no avail. In my frustration, I even searched the library for any rare books that may have contained another, forgotten copy of the map itself. But I had miscalculated where the storm globes would fall, and my task was cut short by the hailstones.”

“You were knocked unconscious, you mean,” Angus said, trying anything to keep Dankhart's attention away from the globe. “One tiny lump of ice, and you were out cold for hours.”

“It was a minor setback.” Dankhart felt for the bump on his forehead. “But nothing more. And then finally, after all my efforts, it was by chance that I discovered you. It was the doctor who gave you away.”

“Doctor Fleagal?”

“The fool Fleagal spoke of your mother, Evangeline, and her adventures in the fog tunnels. And I knew at last who you were. Then all I had to do was arrange one last fiery shower to keep the lightning catchers occupied. I planned to search your room for the map. But then I watched as you and your friends broke away from the rest of the lightning cubs in the Octagon . . . and I followed. I kept my distance, watching you stumble through desert sands, the ice and snow. I even feared I'd have to save you from the fog yeti myself. Finally, though, you brought me straight to the door of the lightning vaults,” Dankhart concluded with a twisted smile. “Both you and your parents have been invaluable. I am loath to admit it, Angus, but I could not have done it without you.”

Angus forgot all about the storm globe for a moment. He wanted nothing more than to break free of his bonds and smash Dankhart's smirking face with his bare hands.

“You've found the lightning vaults,” he said, “so let my parents go!”

“Why, I have no intention of ever letting your parents go, you foolish boy,” Dankhart sneered. “They know far too much about the other dark and delicious secrets hidden within the walls of this Exploratorium. The lightning vaults are but the tip of a very muddy iceberg. And now, on to what I came for!” He finally turned his attention back to the globe, and Angus knew that his time had run out.

Dankhart snatched the ancient sphere greedily from its pedestal, caressing it between both hands as if it were a priceless jewel. Then he raised his arms high above his head and smashed it to the floor—shattering the glass into a thousand tiny pieces.

Angus watched, frozen with fear, as the storm rose above their heads, already rumbling with dark fury and menace, promising to unleash a weather rage so violent it would destroy the lightning vaults completely.

“Come, Angus! Face your doom like a true lightning catcher!” Dankhart made a sudden grab for him, but Angus dodged quickly out of his reach and darted behind a large stone pillar. There was a violent flash of white light. The sheet of emerald glass cracked beneath his feet.

“There's nowhere to run, Angus!” yelled Dankhart above the deafening rumble of thunder that followed. “You will be struck by billions of volts of lightning before you even reach the door. The end will be quick . . . if you are lucky.”

Angus struggled against the rope. He had to free himself now. He flung himself down onto the cracked floor, found a jagged edge of glass, and quickly began to saw at the rope that bound his wrists. He could feel the electricity in the air, gathering force. Great webs of lightning tarantulatis spun across the ceiling, filling the vaults with an unearthly, chilling glow.

“Look how the lightning seeks you out!” Dankhart cried. And Angus was forced to dive again, his body smashing into the hard glass floor as a jagged fork of blinding light struck out. It missed him this time by a mere hairsbreadth.

He scrambled to his feet, and with one last tug his hands were finally free. He darted behind another pillar, his heart racing. Dankhart was going to make him scurry around the vaults like a frightened rabbit before allowing a lethal shock of lightning to stop his heart dead.

Another burst of light, and he was thrown off his feet, his head slamming against the wall of the vaults behind him. He closed his eyes tightly, his ribs aching. He had to figure out where the lightning was going to strike next. He had to stop Dankhart from stealing the storm and unleashing it on the island and the world beyond. He had to see the fire dragon now, in all its shimmering fire and heat, if he was ever going to escape the vaults alive.

He willed the creature to appear and help him, just as it had done in the Lightnarium when Indigo had been in mortal danger; and even on the fog field trip when it had helped him rescue Percival Vellum from a fognado. He waited, hoping desperately, but his brain was a twitching jumble of fears, and the insides of his eyelids remained a cold and lonely black.

“The time has come, Angus.”

A clammy hand closed around his wrist. He struggled with all his might as Dankhart dragged him out from the shadows and into the very center of the vaults before flinging him to his knees.

“I won't forget to tell your precious parents how you suffered,” Dankhart said, circling him now like a hungry wolf. “I will describe for them in agonizing detail how you scurried around the vaults, trying desperately to cling to your feeble, insignificant life.”

Above them, lightning sparked and flickered restlessly, preparing for another strike. This time the strike would be fatal. Angus looked around the vaults frantically, but the door was thirty feet away. He'd never make it in time. The storm was going to kill him as he crouched on the floor. . . .

“Are there any last words, Angus McFangus?” Dankhart taunted him. “Are there any touching messages you would like me to pass on to your loved ones, so I may enjoy their misery too?”

“Yeah, I've got a message.” Angus clenched his fists tightly. “You can tell them this!” He launched himself at Dankhart, knocking him over sideways.

Angus scrambled to his feet again, ready to make one last desperate dash for freedom. Then the fire dragon finally appeared. Angus staggered backward as it burst into the vaults with a roar. Magnificent, terrifying, with molten fire dripping from its outstretched wings, it hovered above him.

“A fire dragon?” Dankhart's voice rose in sudden alarm. “What are you doing, you foolish boy?”

But for once Angus knew exactly what he was doing. His thoughts flickered briefly to his mum and dad, to Uncle Max, Dougal, and Indigo. Then he stared deep into the creature's eyes as he somehow knew he must.

For one electrifying moment, he felt the full force of the never-ending storm shudder violently through every atom in his body, as the storm and the dragon merged into one, twisting and tangling together, then—

BOOOOM!

A huge explosion shook the vaults. Light burst from every direction; Angus caught a glimpse of the dragon as it descended upon a startled-looking Dankhart in a ball of flame. Then his head hit the floor with a sickening crunch, and he knew that it was over . . . everything was over. . . .

 

  
17
  

THE LAST SURPRISE

A
ngus opened one eye carefully. He appeared to be lying flat on his back on a cold stone floor in the middle of a dark passageway. There was a dull throbbing in his ears. Someone had put something soft under his head, and several blurry figures were swimming before him, like the fragments of a broken dream. The fragments finally came into focus and he realized, with a start, that they were Aramanthus Rogwood and Felix Gudgeon.

“Just lie still for a few minutes, Angus,” Gudgeon said, peering down at him. “You've had a nasty shock to the system.”

A shock to the system . . .

Angus sat bolt upright, remembering everything in a terrible rush, amazed, for the second time that day, to find himself still alive.

“Dankhart!” he burst out in a panic. “He's released the never-ending storm. He's going to use it against the lightning catchers and everyone on Imbur. And he's been disguising himself as Mr. Knurling all term.”

“Calm down,” said Gudgeon, forcing him to lie back again. “Dankhart's gone.”

“G-gone? But where? I . . . I don't understand.”

“It seems you're not the only one,” said Gudgeon. “None of us had a clue what was going on until I was cornered by two very agitated friends of yours, who seemed to think you were in trouble. Then we found you down here, about to be vaporized by that ancient storm. We also found these.” He held up a stiff blond wig and a greasy-looking monocle. “Reckon we should have guessed it was Dankhart hiding under this all along. False teeth and wigs can't do anything to hide that stench of his. But he'd already made himself scarce by the time we got down here. Probably scuttled his way through a crack in the walls before some lightning tarantulatis improved his ugly face.”

“But the never-ending storm . . . ,” Angus persisted.

“The storm is being encased in a brand-new globe by Principal Dark-Angel as we speak,” Rogwood explained, his amber eyes fixed on Angus with concern. “It will be sealed once again inside the lightning vaults, where nobody else can get to it, and the map will be destroyed. Dankhart will not be unleashing it on anyone.”

“The maniac's plans all came to nothing in the end, thanks to you and your friends,” Gudgeon added with satisfaction.

Angus sank back, his head buzzing. It was over. Dankhart had fled from Perilous and the storm was contained once more. And yet there was something else still nagging at the back of his mind, something important, something—

“But he's still got my mum and dad!” he yelled suddenly, trying to sit up again. “They're trapped in one of his dungeons.”

“Your parents are made of strong stuff,” Gudgeon said, and his eyes were fiercely bright. “It'll take more than one lumpy-faced lunatic with delusions to make them crack. They'd be proud of you, for finding your own way down into the vaults and taking on Dankhart all by yourself. And you can bet your last silver starling we haven't seen the last of him yet. He'll be back, with more of his crackpot schemes, and next time we'll be ready for him.”

And then Gudgeon did something very unexpected. He smiled broadly at Angus.

“You're to go with Rogwood now, there's something we think you ought to see. Principal Dark-Angel wouldn't like it if she knew what we were up to, but we reckon you've earned it after the lightning vaults.”

It took some time to clamber back up into the weather tunnel, especially since they had to climb a long rope ladder—which Angus found especially difficult as neither his arms nor his legs were working very well. Rogwood led him quickly through the blizzard section, which now appeared to be melting, and down to the deserted kitchens.

“Where are we going?” asked Angus.

He found out ten minutes later when they entered a part of Perilous he had never been allowed anywhere near before: the lightning catchers' living quarters. Rogwood stopped outside one of the doors, pulled out a large bunch of keys, and opened it. He ushered Angus inside. Angus didn't have to ask who the room belonged to. It was filled with a whole host of photographs that he instantly recognized: there was one of his mum and dad on vacation in Canada; another of them in the garden at the Windmill; one with Angus in it from the previous Christmas, just before Uncle Max had set fire to the plum pudding and half the decorations.

His mum's slippers were tucked neatly under the bed. His dad's reading glasses had been left carelessly balanced on top of a pile of books, almost as if he would be coming back at any minute to retrieve them. Angus looked around the cozy, comforting room and swallowed a large lump in his throat.

“Your mother and father always did intend to tell you about Perilous when the time was right,” said Rogwood, watching him kindly. “They already had you enrolled as a lightning cub, and I believe they were intending to give you this when you arrived.” He picked up a small gift-wrapped box and handed it to Angus. “I'm sure they would not mind if you opened it now.”

Angus tore off the paper carefully. Inside was a small wooden box. He opened the lid to find a silver belt buckle, shaped like a bolt of lightning tarantulatis. He blinked, holding back the tears that suddenly threatened to overwhelm him, wishing that his parents were both standing here with him now.

“Dankhart's never going to let them out, is he?” he said, staring at the buckle thoughtfully. “He said something in the vaults about the lightning catchers having all sorts of secrets, and my mum and dad knowing what they were.”

“If your mother and father know anything, Angus, it is how to look after themselves. They have been thoroughly trained in the weather tunnel, they've been stranded in the middle of drought-ridden deserts, they have parachuted onto the frozen poles with nothing but their wits and their weather watches to guide them, and they have always come out smiling. Dankhart's dungeons will be nothing more than an inconvenience to them. We will find a way to bring them back to Perilous where they belong. I can assure you, they have not been forgotten.”

Angus nodded, then thought for a second before asking a question that had been bothering him, ever since he'd first seen the never-ending storm.

“Sir, there's something I don't understand. Why were my parents trying to find the map of the vaults in the first place? Why not just leave them sealed up?”

Rogwood sighed. “The glass sphere that the storm was contained in was coming to the end of its life. Several of the senior lightning catchers, including me, had calculated long ago that it could not withstand such a constant battering for very much longer. Principal Dark-Angel sent your parents to find the map and the vaults so the storm could be rehoused in a much stronger globe, before it could break free and destroy us all. This is an immensely tricky and complicated task, which the principal is tackling even as we speak. After she has managed to secure the storm, the vaults will be resealed, and no one will be entering them again for a very long time to come. We are not proud of the storm, Angus,” Rogwood added, with a somber shake of his toffee-colored beard. “It was a foolish enterprise to undertake, an arrogant one. How did we ever think that we could contain such an angry storm for any length of time and bend it to our will? It's a delusion that Scabious Dankhart still maintains. But we must take responsibility for our mistakes, even those made hundreds of years ago.”

Angus knew Rogwood was speaking of the terrible accident that had killed the sons of both Philip Starling and Edgar Perilous.

“The matter has been dealt with—for the time being, at least. And now I have a question of my own,” he said, amber eyes shining. “I would very much like to know, if you will tell me, how you and your friends found the map.”

Angus took a deep breath and told Rogwood about the letter from his mum and how Dougal had uncovered the secrets that it contained.

“Most impressive indeed.” Rogwood smiled, his eyebrows raised. “I must remember Mr. Dewsnap's talents for code breaking. They may come in very handy someday. And am I also right in thinking that you found some use for your own talents as a storm prophet in the lightning vaults?”

Angus thought of the dragon and how it had finally appeared, in his moment of darkest need, almost as if it had heard his plea for help. He tried to remember exactly what had happened next, how the dragon had triggered some deeply hidden instinct inside him, and how he'd suddenly known exactly what to do. The precise details, however, seemed strangely dim and murky now, like a memory that had already faded. The fire he'd felt coursing through his body in the vaults had also gone, and he wondered if the fury of the never-ending storm had affected his brain cells.

One thing Angus was utterly convinced about—Dankhart had seen the terrible creature too. He would never forget the look of terror on his face as the dragon and the storm had merged, and then descended upon Dankhart in a ball of raging fire.

“Sir, Dankhart saw the dragon, too, but how?” he asked Rogwood, frowning. “I thought you said it was just a vision, a warning of danger?”

“I am afraid that question requires a long and very complicated answer.” Rogwood sighed. “And I fear that now is not the right time for such important discussions to take place. Forgive me, Angus, I hope you will trust that I have your best interests at heart. I can only assure you that all will be revealed in the fullness of time.”

Angus pondered this mysterious answer for a moment.

“Sir,” he said again, “would it be okay if we didn't tell Principal Dark-Angel about me seeing another fire dragon? She'll only want Catcher Vellum to test my brain again, and I think I've seen enough lightning bolts for one day.”

Rogwood smiled kindly. “My lips are sealed, Angus. We shall keep that information just between ourselves . . . for as long as possible.”

 

Angus was allowed back to his room later that night only after he had been thoroughly checked over by Doctor Fleagal. Thankfully, he had escaped his electrifying encounter with only a few minor cuts and bruises.

As he made his way wearily down to his room, he was glad to find Indigo and Dougal waiting for him outside his door. His friends looked extremely relieved to see that he was still alive.

“What happened? Did you stop Dankhart?”

“Did Gudgeon get to you in time?” Dougal rushed toward him, his hair rumpled, his glasses still smudged with camel spit and sand. “You should have seen him when we told him you were in trouble.”

They went into Angus's room, where he filled them in on everything that had happened since he'd fallen into the dark passageway under the weather tunnel. It took quite some time to convince them that the librarian had really been Dankhart in disguise.

“You mean we saved my own uncle after the storm globes, and I didn't even realize it?” Indigo gasped, horrified.

When he described how Dankhart had popped a sinister black diamond into his empty eye socket, Dougal turned green and had to sit with his head between his knees, recovering.