The Lightning Catcher (13 page)

“If you're going to catch that thing, I suggest you do it now, Vellum!” he barked.

But before the lightning catchers could get anywhere near the strange ball of crackling electricity, it made a move toward Indigo. It floated on its eerie path past Angus, who had an odd urge to reach out and touch it. If he could just push it away from Indigo somehow, and toward the lightning catchers and their metal box, everything would be okay. . . .

He reached out his hands, mesmerized by the dazzling orb . . . and it was only then, as he gazed into its transfixing depths, that he saw it. Curled up deep within the ball was a creature he knew only too well; it was the same one that he'd discovered on the door to the Lightnarium in faded gold and flame, the same fiery creature that had been forcing its way into his dreams all summer. Only this time, it was no nightmare, and it was staring right back at him.

BANG!

Angus stumbled backward in surprise as the dragon burst out of the ball in an explosion of snarling teeth and talons. Its long, shimmering wings unfurled, blasting him with a surge of heat as it hovered beside the ball lightning. The creature held his gaze, dark eyes boring into his own, and suddenly, almost as if it had reached out and planted the thought directly into his brain, Angus knew that Indigo was in deathly danger.

“INDIGO! LOOK OUT!” he yelled.

Indigo stared at him, frozen to the spot with fear. Angus dived, pushing her sideways just as the ball lightning struck. A long streak of brilliant light snapped violently at the space where Indigo had been standing only seconds before, catching Angus on the arm instead.

“Arrgghhh!”

White-hot pain seared straight through his skin and shot deep into his bones, the room swam before his eyes, and he crumpled to his knees.

 

“Stand back, everyone! Let the boy breathe!”

Gudgeon's voice came floating toward him from what sounded like a very long way off. Angus blinked, opening his eyes slowly. A sea of faces swam into focus above him. And he was very surprised to find himself lying on the floor, with the whole class staring down at him like he was an exhibit in a museum.

“Can you sit up?” Gudgeon asked. He was looking at Angus with deep lines of worry etched into his craggy face.

Angus propped himself up on his elbow and winced with pain. He stared around the Lightnarium quickly, but all traces of the fire dragon and the ball lightning had disappeared.

“What happened?” he asked, his head feeling as if it had just been used as a human trampoline.

“The lightning got you in the arm,” Gudgeon explained. “You lost consciousness for a couple of seconds, but you were lucky. Your lightning deflector took most of the sting out of it.”

Angus looked down at his arm. The slippery suit had been ripped wide open, and somebody had tied a makeshift bandage around his elbow. Hot, sticky blood was oozing through it.

“But—what about the dragon?” he asked urgently.

“Dragon?” Gudgeon frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“It burst out of the lightning . . . it was going to hurt Indigo. Is—is she all right?”

“Calm down, Doomsbury,” Gudgeon reassured him quickly. “Miss Midnight's a bit shaken, but she'll live. She's already been taken up to the sanatorium for a full checkup.” Gudgeon helped him slowly to his feet, which wasn't nearly as easy as it sounded, since the floor seemed to be tilting sideways at a very odd angle. “You'd better come with me,” said Gudgeon. “There's someone who'll want to have a word after what you just did.”

Angus looked over his shoulder and caught a brief glimpse of Dougal's worried face before he followed Gudgeon toward the far end of the Lightnarium. The burn on his arm was beginning to sting painfully now, making him feel dizzy and sick, and he wondered if he was being taken to the doctor. Or was he in some sort of trouble for diving in front of Indigo like a lunatic?

They came to a halt outside a door at the end of the Lightnarium. Gudgeon glared down at him, knocked once, and stomped inside.

  
8
  

STORM PROPHET

A
ngus took a deep breath, which somehow made his arm sting even more. He then followed Gudgeon through the door and into a small room. After the cavelike dimness of the Lightnarium, he was surprised to see bright sunlight streaming in through a small window on the far wall. It hurt his eyes and made him blink. He was also amazed to see that the room was filled with an impressive collection of antique safety goggles of every shape and size, hanging from the ceiling on hooks; some were rose tinted, while others had been rubberized or coated in tough-looking leather. Angus instantly got the impression that hundreds of pairs of eyes were all watching him at once.

Sitting behind a desk in the center of the room was a bearded lightning catcher Angus had never seen before. His eyes resembled those of an owl and were a rich, tawny amber. His long, toffee-colored beard was braided down the middle and tucked inside his leather jerkin.

“Felix?” The man stood, looking puzzled, as they crossed the room toward him.

“You know who this boy is, Aramanthus?” Gudgeon asked.

“I certainly do, but I don't quite see why you have brought him—”

“I've brought him to your office,” Gudgeon interrupted, “because Angus here has just saved another cub from a very nasty encounter with some ball lightning. Pushed her out of the way before it struck.”

“Did he indeed?” A deep frown crossed the other lightning catcher's face. “Angus, would you mind if I took a quick look at your arm?” he asked. And before Angus could answer, he undid the bandage and carefully inspected the burn beneath it. “Lightning burns are a hazard of working in the Lightnarium, I'm afraid,” he explained as he turned Angus's arm toward the light. “As are melted rubber boots, perforated eardrums, and bright purple spots before the eyes. I'm happy to say this burn does not appear to be too serious.” He smiled kindly. “I must warn you, however, that it will feel rather sore for the next few days.”

He opened a drawer in his desk and took out a jar of thick yellow gel that reminded Angus of wallpaper paste. He spread the gel generously over the burn, and Angus, who suddenly felt his muscles relaxing, realized that his whole body had been clenched tight like a fist ever since the ball lightning had attacked him.

“Thanks a lot, sir,” he said, grateful.

The lightning catcher nodded, then turned back to Gudgeon. “Forgive me, Felix, but I still don't understand how Angus came to be facing a ball of lightning in the first place?”

“I'll give you one guess—it was that great bearded goat, Valentine Vellum.” Gudgeon spat the name across the room. “If I didn't know any better, I'd swear he'd done it on purpose. I thought, under the circumstances, that you two might want a chat. And if the boy's not about to perish, I'd better get back out there, before Valentine ‘accidentally' attacks any more trainees.” And with a fleeting glance at Angus, he left the room abruptly, closing the door behind him.

“Why don't you take a seat, Angus?” the lightning catcher said, pointing to a comfortable-looking chair. Angus stayed where he was, however, wondering what there was to chat about.

“Please allow me to introduce myself,” the man continued, sitting down behind his desk. “I am Aramanthus Rogwood.”

Angus could just make out an impressive nine lightning bolts pinned to the front of his jerkin, hidden beneath the braids of his toffee-colored beard.

“Am I in trouble, sir?” Angus burst out anxiously, unable to stop himself. “Because I only pushed Indigo out of the way to stop her from getting injured.”

“Trouble?” Rogwood looked confused. “Why on earth would you be in any trouble?”

“Well, I just thought that . . . because of what I . . . I . . .” Angus stumbled over his words and then stopped, feeling confused.

“Angus.” Rogwood fixed him with a steady gaze. “I have been at Perilous longer than I care to remember. During that time, I have managed to boil my own beard, wreck several hurricane suits, and fall down a flight of stairs, smashing a very rare and valuable collection of antique bottling jars in the process, and I have never been threatened with punishment once. Nobody is about to discipline you for saving your friend from a nasty injury.”

Angus nodded, feeling extremely relieved. He lowered himself into the chair, limbs aching as if he'd just run a grueling underwater marathon.

“I would be very grateful, however,” Rogwood continued, “if you could explain exactly what happened a few moments ago in the Lightnarium, even if some of the details may sound a little . . . far-fetched.” The lightning catcher studied Angus with a thoughtful gaze, as if he could already tell exactly what had happened. But how could he possibly know?

Angus fiddled with the ripped sleeve of his lightning deflector for a moment, weighing the unhappy options now before him. If he told Rogwood about the appearance of the fire dragon, he ran the risk of being sent home for being completely delusional and seeing things that weren't really there. If, however, he lied about what he'd just seen, if he tried to pretend he had merely pushed Indigo out of the way on an impulse, he might never discover what was going on or why he'd been having the strange visions in the first place.

His mind flashed back to the faded dragon on the door that led to the Lightnarium. Somebody at Perilous knew about the shimmering creatures. This had something to do with the lightning catchers. He was now sure of it. . . .

“I've been having these strange dreams lately, sir,” he began, taking a deep breath and deciding he might just as well tell Rogwood everything. “They started when I was staying with my uncle over the summer—”

“Ah, and how is Maximilian these days? Still setting fire to his kitchen on a regular basis, I trust?”

“I . . . you know my uncle?” Angus asked, surprised.

Rogwood smiled, his amber eyes twinkling. “Indeed, I am lucky enough to know most of your family. I apologize for interrupting your story, Angus, but I happen to be very fond of your uncle; he once made me a rather ingenious mechanical moon phase calendar. But please continue.”

“Oh, right, yeah . . .” Angus fought the temptation to ask more about the moon phase calendar. “Anyway, when I had these dreams, I always saw the same, er, thing,” he said, reluctant to mention the word “dragon” too early in the conversation. “And then I saw another one of them when Edmund Croxley gave me a guided tour of the Octagon. It was on the door to the Lightnarium.” He watched Rogwood's face for a reaction, but none came. “And today another one came bursting out at me, just before the ball lightning went for Indigo—”

“Another one of what, exactly?” Rogwood asked calmly.

Angus took another deep breath.

“Another fire dragon. It was hovering right next to the ball lightning and then I suddenly knew that I had to save Indigo, and if I hadn't pushed her out of the way . . . I know it sounds stupid,” he said, realizing just how ridiculous it did sound, now he was saying it out loud. “But that's what happened.”

Rogwood studied him for several long moments without speaking, an odd, almost sad expression on his face.

“Thank you, Angus, for describing what must have been a most distressing experience for both you and Miss Midnight,” he eventually said. “First, let me assure you that what you saw in the Lightnarium was every bit as real as that burn on your arm.”

Angus stared at him, stunned.

“So y-you believe me, then?”

“Certainly. I have no reason for thinking you would make up such a story just to confuse and befuddle an old lightning catcher like me.”

“But why can't anyone else see it if it's real?” Angus burst out. Gudgeon's puzzled reaction in the Lightnarium had made it obvious that no one else had caught even a glimpse of the dragon.

Rogwood knitted his fingers together in front of him and sighed. “I will do my best to explain, but first, would you care to join me in a mug of warm milk? It is the best cure I know for a nasty shock to the system such as the one you have just experienced.” He stood up and went over to a small fire in the corner of the room, with a pan already simmering on it. He poured hot milk into two mugs and handed one to Angus.

“There have been other lightning catchers before you who have seen a very similar dragon, Angus,” Rogwood said after a moment of silence. “It is a rare ability, however, and usually takes a number of years to show itself. It is very curious, therefore, that you have displayed such abilities, with no training, and at such a remarkably young age. I believe, Angus, that you are a storm prophet.”

“A what?” Angus asked, swallowing more hot milk than he meant to and scalding the roof of his mouth.

“A storm prophet can sometimes predict what volatile weather is about to do, before it actually does it.”

“You mean like a . . . a fortune-teller predicts things?”

“Along similar lines, yes.” Rogwood nodded.

“But . . . I don't understand,” Angus said, frowning. “What does seeing a fire dragon have to do with predicting the weather?”

“Soon after Edgar Perilous and Philip Starling came to Imbur and founded this Exploratorium,” Rogwood explained, “it was discovered that some lightning catchers had a rare and natural ability to predict when violent weather might be of danger to others, and they were quickly given the name storm prophets. All of the storm prophets described how a fiery dragon appeared before them on such occasions, like a warning, but although they took part in countless experiments, some of them here in the Lightnarium, their abilities and visions have never been truly understood.”

Angus shivered. What sorts of dangerous experiments had the storm prophets taken part in?

“One thing was clear, however,” Rogwood continued. “Storm prophets did not see the weather as mere cloud or rain, hailstone or blizzard. Indeed, they could see beyond any flake of snow or gust of wind and sense the raw, elemental forces that lurked deep within the storm itself. And a fire dragon was the perfect vision, the perfect warning at such moments—a fearsome creature, trembling with the same power and violence that the storm was about to unleash.”

Angus thought about the fire dragon that had appeared in the Lightnarium, and gulped.

“Some say this talent for storm spotting goes all the way back to the Great Fire of London itself,” Rogwood explained calmly, “back to those heady days when lightning towers peppered the skies of that illustrious city, when the sheer scale and force of those vast towers caused an irreversible alteration in some of those who operated them.”

“An . . . alteration?” asked Angus.

Rogwood nodded. “It is believed that these operators laid themselves open to such powerful forces of nature that over time, some of them were infused with the very forces they were trying to capture and control, and that this changed them—forever.

“Your own family, Angus, comes from a long line of lightning catchers. Indeed, they were among those who first came to Imbur from the ashes of the Great Fire itself. I believe that you may have inherited the skills of a storm prophet from your ancestors. The dragon appeared before you today as a warning that Indigo was in imminent danger. You pushed her out of the way before the ball lightning could strike and took the blow yourself, which, I might add, was an extremely brave thing to do.”