The Lightning Catcher: The Secrets of the Storm Vortex

by Anne Cameron

  Dougal had come to a halt several steps behind him. He was now lying slumped against the wall, snoring soundly, with flakes of scarlet snow melting in his hair.

  7

  SECRETS OF THE INNER SANCTUM

  Both Dougal and Jonathon Hake were hurried up to the sanatorium for urgent treatment after their brush with the deadly scarlet snow. Angus and Indigo waited anxiously in the kitchens for news. By the time Dougal finally reappeared, looking extremely grumpy and groggy, it was already dark.

  “I’m going to kill Percival Vellum for knocking that storm jar over!” Dougal declared, slouching into a chair at the table. “Doctor Fleagal’s just forced me and Jonathon to drink this disgusting tonic,” he added with a shudder. “It tasted like swamp water. And we’ve got to go up to the sanatorium twice a day for the next week so he can check for side effects.”

  “What kind of side effects?” Angus asked, concerned.

  “Fleagal says it takes time for the snow to work its way through your system. He says we might start falling asleep mid—”

  Dougal suddenly slumped across the table and started snoring loudly. Indigo quickly managed to revive him, however, by pinching his arm. After eating a large plateful of cheese on toast, Dougal retreated to his room in a thoroughly bad mood to work on his puzzle competition and to let Norman, his pet lightning moth, stretch its wings. Indigo disappeared shortly after, still looking traumatized by the dramatic events in the storm hollow.

  Angus therefore spent the rest of the evening alone in the Pigsty, huddled close to the fire. He grabbed his scare-me-not puzzle and his bag of magnetic marbles from a drawer in his bedside cabinet, trying not to let his thoughts stray back to the deadly seven . . . or his parents . . . or the massive cloud that was sitting over Castle Dankhart . . . or the fact that the Vellums, the two people he hated most in the entire Exploratorium, were busy hatching another plan to get him expelled or get him put on sock-washing duty for the rest of the term at the very least.

  When he could no longer keep his eyes open, he fell into his bed, his dreams instantly filled with violent weather explosions and hair-raising escapades through the depths of a dark castle. It felt so terrifyingly real that he woke up with his heart pounding inside his chest, his palms clammy with sweat.

  It was only when he stumbled out of bed, a few hours later, deciding on an early breakfast, that he discovered a note had been slipped under his door.

  He stared at the neat writing on the envelope and opened it warily. The note inside said:

  Dear Angus,

  Please meet me in the kitchens before breakfast. Wet-weather clothing will not be necessary, but I would advise you to wear something warm.

  Yours sincerely,

  Aramanthus Rogwood

  Angus felt his stomach churn with nerves. Events in the storm hollow had driven all thoughts of the Inner Sanctum and storm prophet lessons temporarily out of his head. But it was clear that today he would finally discover what lay behind the mysterious door. Would there be more projectograms of Castle Dankhart? Or strange storms that nobody had ever heard of?

  He got dressed hastily, accidentally pulling his pants on the wrong way round, and slipped out of his room. He hovered outside Dougal’s door for several seconds, toying with the idea of waking his friend up but finally decided against it.

  The kitchens were practically deserted, apart from a few weary-looking lightning catchers who had clearly been on night duty. Angus was already halfway through a hot bacon roll when Rogwood found him at his usual table.

  “Ah, Angus.” Rogwood sat down and smiled at him. “I hope you have recovered from your first visit to the storm hollow. Gudgeon has just been filling me in on the thrilling details. I hear Mr. Dewsnap got rather more sleep than he bargained for?” he added, tawny eyes twinkling.

  “Yes, sir.” Angus swallowed a large mouthful of bacon.

  “Luckily, the snow has no lasting side effects. He will be as right as rain after a hearty breakfast and some short afternoon naps.” Rogwood stood up, tucking his braided beard inside his leather jerkin to keep it out of the way. “If you are ready then, Angus, we will make a start before questions can be asked.”

  Suddenly losing his appetite, Angus left the rest of his breakfast on his plate and followed Rogwood out of the kitchens. When they reached the Octagon a few minutes later, he realized he’d never seen it so utterly deserted before. Something that sounded like a rusty gate-hinge was squeaking loudly inside the experimental division. A small puff of smoke drifted from under the door to the sanatorium, but it quickly dissipated, and a deep silence fell.

  “Before we enter the Inner Sanctum, Angus, Principal Dark-Angel has asked me to remind you of your promise to reveal none of its secrets to any of your fellow lightning cubs,” Rogwood said, taking a large bunch of keys from a pocket in his leather jerkin. “I, however, would encourage you to share every possible detail with Mr. Dewsnap and Miss Midnight. I believe it is extremely important for your most trusted friends to understand what it means to be a storm prophet.”

  “Er, yes, sir,” Angus said, taken aback. “I’ve already told Dougal and Indigo everything.”

  “Excellent.” Rogwood smiled kindly at him. “There is one more thing before we begin. If anyone other than your friends should see you entering or leaving the Inner Sanctum, I believe it might be necessary to tell them you have been volunteered by Principal Dark-Angel to clear up an infestation of pustular mold, and that should deter anyone who is overly curious.”

  “Yes, sir.” Angus agreed, hoping there was no real mold.

  “Good. I must also ask you not to touch anything unless I give my permission.”

  Rogwood fitted a different key into each of the eight locks on the door and then disappeared through it. Angus took a deep breath and followed him down a long, narrow stone tunnel. At the end of the tunnel they stopped before a round steel safety door. Rogwood opened it with a twist and a tug before Angus could worry about what might lie behind it and clambered through into another eight-sided hall. Angus gulped. It was almost an exact replica of the Octagon they’d just left behind, only this one had no marbled pillars or domed ceilings, and the eight doors were set deep into bare rock. Two large buckets had been deposited outside one of the doors. They were filled with piles of tangled rubbish.

  “Ah, I believe that is some of the flotsam and jetsam collected from the courtyard after the latest weather explosion,” Rogwood told him before he could ask. “It is being thoroughly inspected for any clues it might offer about the weather vortex over Castle Dankhart. Principal Dark-Angel has asked that—”

  “ARGHHH! OOOOO!”

  Angus flinched as sounds of a scuffle reached them from behind one of the eight doors.

  “What’s happening, sir?” he asked urgently, but his words were drowned by another strangled yelp.

  “ARGHHH!”

  A door burst open suddenly, and a short lightning catcher whom Angus had never seen before came tumbling through it. He slammed the door behind him and slumped against it, breathing heavily.

  “Ah, Catcher Donall, good morning,” Rogwood said calmly ignoring the sound of weighty footsteps now thundering toward them from the depths of the room beyond. Angus shrank back, wondering if he should make a run for it. Something monstrous was about to come bursting into the Octagon.

  “Aramanthus,” the man said, finally catching his breath, “we haven’t seen you in the Inner Sanctum for some time.”

  “I’m afraid my duties have been keeping me rather busy of late.”

  Bang!

  “Grrrrrrrrr!”

  Angus took another hurried step backward, pressing his whole body into the wall as what sounded like a gigantic creature threw itself against the door, causing the rusty hinges to groan and bulge. Was Rogwood taking him to see some real fire dragons?

  “It seems you have your hands rather full this morning,” Rogwood said, his eyebrows raised. “Perhaps I could locate Catcher Roxbee for you and send h
er along with some assistance.”

  The man nodded gratefully, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief. “If you could also ask her to bring a strong rope and some pink marshmallows . . .”

  The man’s leather jerkin had been savagely ripped and torn. Angus noticed, as Rogwood steered him away, that there were also several sets of enormous teeth marks clearly imprinted upon the hemline.

  “But, sir, what was that thing behind the door?” Angus asked, desperately trying to look back over his shoulder as Rogwood took him through another of the eight doors.

  “We need not concern ourselves with that particular section of the Inner Sanctum on this occasion,” Rogwood said mysteriously, without answering his question.

  They had now entered a long, high-ceilinged room. The contrast with the bare rock of the Octagon was startling. Soft light fissures gave the wood paneling all around them a warm, comforting glow. Tall glass display cases towered over them from both sides of the room, stuffed with interesting-looking objects and ancient dust. It was like stepping into the depths of a grand old museum.

  “This is one of our artifact rooms,” Rogwood explained, leading him quickly past a display of archaic measuring instruments. “Everything contained in this room has great historical significance to the lightning catchers. These spectacles, for example, belonged to Philip Starling.” Rogwood stopped suddenly and removed a spindly-looking pair of glasses from the cabinet beside them. Smudged fingerprints covered both lenses. Angus couldn’t help wondering if they, too, had belonged to Philip Starling. “This is the first photograph ever taken of a storm,” Rogwood continued, returning the glasses to their case and pointing to a very blurry black-and-white picture that looked as if it had been taken through a dark fog.

  “But why not put everything on display inside Perilous, sir?” Angus asked. He was positive Dougal and Indigo would love to see such amazing artifacts.

  “Unfortunately, many valuable items have been lost in the past, our most potent ideas stolen and used against us by the monsoon mongrels. In the Inner Sanctum we can protect our precious weather secrets and preserve that vital knowledge for future generations of lightning catchers. This weather suit, for instance, was worn by Veronica Stickleback when she discovered the existence of glizzards, or glacial blizzards,” Rogwood said, standing beside a display case containing a battered-looking leather jerkin and saggy woolen pants. “It is an essential part of our heritage.”

  They meandered past a striking assortment of early waterproof pantaloons and some impressive fossilized snowflakes. There was also a vast collection of fulgurites (formed when a bolt of lightning struck sand, leaving a perfect cast of the lightning bolt behind) that had been found in various locations around the world.

  “I believe this is where we will find Catcher Roxbee,” Rogwood said as they reached the end of the artifact room and ducked through a low wooden door. The other side of it resembled a junkyard. Large collections of dangerous-looking inventions, similar to the ones Angus had seen in the experimental division, littered the floor. Some had shiny metal wheels and cogs; others were vibrating. Angus was certain that Uncle Max would trade his top-secret recipe for mashed potato and gravy muffins just to spend one glorious hour investigating such hidden treasures.

  “These machines and inventions have been placed in the Inner Sanctum to protect everyone from their potential dangers,” Rogwood explained as they ducked under swags of dangling chains and ropes. “Some are hundreds of years old and were discovered in the stone tunnels and passageways beneath Perilous.” He pointed to what looked like a mountain of rust-covered scrap metal. “We still have no idea what many of them were used for, and it’s far too dangerous to investigate.”

  Angus dived to the left suddenly as a large copper machine, which appeared to be covered in mechanical ears, coughed, belching out a long stream of black smoke.

  “Although a few of the less dangerous specimens have been kept in working order,” Rogwood said, brushing soot off his leather jerkin.

  As they rounded a corner, they found a small group of lightning catchers, armed with wrenches and pots of grease, gathered around another machine.

  “Ah, Catcher Roxbee.” Rogwood shook her oily hand. “I come with a request from Catcher Donall. He is in urgent need of an extra pair of hands, a sturdy rope, and some pink marshmallows.”

  Catcher Roxbee nodded. She turned quietly to another member of her team, who grabbed a pair of thick protective gloves and darted off, looking mildly anxious.

  “I hear the weather vortex is keeping you rather busy here in the Inner Sanctum,” Rogwood said.

  Catcher Roxbee nodded, scratching her nose and smearing it with dirt. “The weather station has collected some fresh samples just this morning.”

  Angus listened carefully to their conversation. Any information he could gather about the weather vortex might be vital to his own search for answers with Dougal and Indigo.

  “There are signs that the deadly seven are beginning to mix with fragments from some of the other storms in the swirling cloud,” Catcher Roxbee said, “which could see them mutate into entirely new weather forms, so we must be prepared for anything.”

  “Indeed.” Rogwood’s face was suddenly serious. “That may have been Dankhart’s real intention from the start.”

  “That is precisely why Delphinia wants us to resurrect this old experimental cloudpuller. If there is another explosion at Castle Dankhart, it will help us deal with any magnetic storm particles that drift over Perilous.”

  Angus stared at the machine properly for the first time. It resembled a giant octopus with eight long tentacle like attachments, each with a magnet fixed to the end.

  “Unfortunately, it hasn’t been activated since the great iron raindrop showers of 1919, and it’s taking quite a bit of coaxing.”

  At that moment, however, the machine finally spluttered into life, causing several lightning catchers to dive for cover. Angus scuttled backward as the machine suddenly lurched.

  “The cloudpuller must be reacting to something nearby!” Catcher Roxbee called above the scraping noise it was now making. “Everyone, search the area for magnetic materials!”

  But Angus had a sudden horrible thought. He thrust his hands into his pockets and retrieved his bag of magnetic marbles.

  “Er, e-excuse me, Catcher Roxbee!” he said, holding them out at arm’s length.

  The cloudpuller turned, adjusting its position, and headed straight for him, tentacles waving wildly.

  “Quickly, boy, throw the marbles away from you!” Catcher Roxbee ordered as the machine began to close the gap between them with alarming speed.

  Angus lobbed the bag and ducked as a wrench flew over his head. Small oil cans, screwdrivers, and rusty nails were being drawn toward the octopus arms like silver lightning moths to a flame.

  Rogwood yanked him aside as the machine hurtled past them hungrily, in search of the marbles. It was now on a direct collision course with what looked like a giant snow shovel on a spinning wheel.

  SMASH!

  The collision rocked the Inner Sanctum with the force of a small earthquake. Angus threw his arms over his head for protection as coils, springs, magnets, and tentacles flew in every direction. A heavy shower of iron filings pooled at his feet, forming a glimmering metallic puddle.

  “And that, Angus, is why I have sworn never to keep a Cradget’s product about my person,” Rogwood declared, brushing iron filings out of his beard. “I believe the time has come for us to leave Catcher Roxbee and her team to it.”

  Angus followed the lightning catcher in a daze, his ears ringing. They retraced their steps through the artifact room and back to the rough stone chamber, where Angus stood a few minutes later, facing the eight closed doors once again. Catcher Donall had now disappeared. All was quiet behind the door with the rusty hinges.

  “If you are feeling up to it, Angus, we will begin our first lesson properly,” Rogwood said.

  Angus nodded, hoping his legs
weren’t about to give way beneath him. The incident with the cloudpuller had left him feeling distinctly shaken. Rogwood led him through a different door this time, decorated with swooping fire dragons. The room inside was completely dragon free. It was also empty. Puzzled, Angus twisted around in every direction, staring into the dark corners. There were no pictures, bookshelves, display cabinets, or rusty weather machines. As he followed Rogwood across the room, however, his eyes were drawn to a small round trapdoor in the floor.

  “Oh!” Angus stopped in his tracks as he felt a sudden stirring in his chest. It was the same unsettling sensation that he’d experienced after his trip to the Storm Science Museum.

  “Er, sir?”

  Something beneath the trapdoor was connected to the storm prophets. He was sure of it.

  “Ah.” Rogwood smiled behind his beard. “I see your extraordinary senses have drawn you straight to one of the most significant parts of the Inner Sanctum. I was planning to take you through that particular door on a different occasion, but as your curiosity has clearly been piqued . . .”

  Rogwood lifted the trapdoor, revealing a long set of stone steps heading downward. The air grew steadily colder as they descended. When they finally reached the bottom—

  Angus gasped. Stretching far into the distance was what looked like a large underground graveyard, packed tightly with an assortment of creepy tombs and stone coffins. There were Egyptian-style obelisks, sunken stairs leading down to mysteriously inscribed doors, and great mausoleums protected by marble lions and tigers. The air inside the crypt was bitingly cold and filled with the dank smell of decay. The only light came from a few flickering lamps that hung from the vaulted ceiling, casting grotesque shadows in every direction.

  “Welcome, Angus, to the Perilous crypt.”

  “C-crypt?” Angus had a sudden vision of wailing ghosts and vampires and shivered. What did any of this have to do with the storm prophets? He followed Rogwood through a whole avenue of lofty stone mausoleums. The lightning catcher appeared to be heading for one of the larger tombs with pillars and fancy engravings on the front. As they drew closer, Angus was surprised to see a half-open door leading inside the tomb, where he could clearly make out an unmade bed and a small kitchenette.