The Lightning Catcher (7 page)

“The girls' rooms are through there,” Edmund announced, pointing to a door that separated them from the other end of the hallway. “And are strictly out-of-bounds to all boys, of course. But this is your room.” They stopped outside another door.

“Thanks for showing me around,” Angus said.

“Happy to oblige, Angus, happy to oblige. Just remember my advice about checking your bed for storm globes, and you can't go far wrong. Now I really must finish that essay. . . .”

Edmund turned and strode quickly along the curved hallway and disappeared round a bend.

Angus opened the door to his new room and went inside, yawning. The room was small and cozy, with a dome-shaped ceiling just like the one in the Octagon, only on a much smaller scale. There was a heavy wooden bed in the corner, a fire burning brightly in a small fireplace, and a thick rug covering the stone floor. Several light fissures crackled and sparked overhead.

He kicked off his soggy shoes and flopped down on his bed, suddenly feeling weary. There was a hot plate of delicious stew and dumplings on his bedside table. He ate the stew hungrily, then sank back into his soft pillows and barely had time to wonder about the Lightnarium, his parents, or what was going to happen to him in the morning before exhaustion finally overtook him. And he fell into a deep, dream-free sleep.

  
5
  

THE WEATHER TUNNEL

T
he next morning, Angus was woken up suddenly by a clanging bell. He sat bolt upright in his bed, confused, wondering for a brief moment where he was. He stumbled out of bed, feeling dazed.

Daylight was streaming in through a small window. He pressed his nose against the glass. In the distance he could see snow-covered mountains. A slow grin spread across his face as he remembered that he was now a trainee lightning catcher.

He stared around the room, nerves tingling. A large pile of clothes had been left on a chair in front of the fire. Placed on top of these clothes was a note written on ivory paper. Angus rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, unfolded the note, and tried to focus on the words.

 

Please put on
all
of the clothes provided and report to the lightning catcher at the end of your hallway as soon as the second bell has been rung. You should also sign the declaration attached to this note.

 

Angus set the instructions to one side and studied the clothes nervously. There was a pair of pants and a matching sweater in dark gray wool, with a white shirt and yellow tie, all of which looked fairly ordinary. He dressed himself quickly, then hesitated. The rest of the clothes in the pile were anything but ordinary. But the note had been quite clear. Therefore, with some difficulty, he pulled on a shiny weatherproof coat, which fell well below his knees like a vast yellow poncho. There was also a thick pair of black rubber boots; a waterproof hat (which covered his ears and half his face); a pair of gloves; a knitted scarf that was smothered in woolly lightning bolts (also in yellow); and a pair of fluffy blue earmuffs.

Angus picked up the instructions again and found the declaration he was supposed to sign. He unfolded the sheet of paper and read:

 

I, the undersigned, hereby understand that catching lightning bolts and giant hailstones without proper supervision is likely to result in my own extremely painful death, and I therefore agree never to attempt it.

 

Angus swallowed hard. If he hadn't already felt the full sucking force of the storm vacuum on his guided tour of the Octagon the night before, he would have been convinced that the declaration was somebody's idea of a joke. But there was something dangerous in the very air at Perilous. What was it Edmund Croxley had warned him about—toxic miasmas, poisonous fogs, and infectious odors? A sudden vision of the mysterious fire dragon on the door to the Lightnarium also flashed into his thoughts, but he quickly shook it off again. He didn't have time to think about any of it now. The second bell could ring at any second, and he wanted to be ready for it. He read the rest of the declaration, feeling distinctly clammy.

 

I also understand that there is a big possibility that I will get my eyebrows singed, fingers squashed, ankles smashed, or elbows crushed during my time as a lightning cub, and that this will be nobody's fault but my own. If I had listened to the safety instructions issued by the lightning catchers in the first place, it never would have happened.

So let that be a lesson to me.

Finally, I agree never to divulge any of the weather secrets I will be learning to anyone outside of the Exploratorium, even if they offer to do my homework for the next seven years.

 

Angus found a pen on a small desk in the corner of his room; he wondered for a moment if he ought to sign the declaration with his real name or the one he'd been forced to adopt by Principal Dark-Angel. And in the end, he scribbled down something so illegible it looked like he was now called Angus Von Dungbeetle.

He stuffed the declaration into one of his voluminous pockets and was just about to venture out into the hall, to see if anyone else was waiting for the second bell to ring, when his fingers touched a small square box at the bottom of his pocket.

The box looked exactly like the kind that came from a jeweler's shop. He lifted the lid cautiously and peered inside it—half expecting to find some dangerous weather instrument he would be expected to use later. Instead it contained the most amazing watch he'd ever seen in his life.

A note had been stuck to the inside of the box. It read:

 

Your weather watch is a highly valuable piece of equipment. You are permitted to remove it in the shower building and during your monsoon training only. If you are caught without it at any other time, you will find yourself on boot-cleaning duty for the rest of the year. You have been warned.

 

Angus grinned. Uncle Max had made him a screaming alarm clock for Christmas once, but the weather watch was even more magnificent. It had a built-in thermometer, compass, and barometer, as well as an ordinary clock for telling the time. At that precise moment, tiny silvery clouds were scudding across this shiny face, partially obscuring a dazzling golden sun. Angus stared at the clouds in awe. Then he fiddled with the hour hand, watching carefully as the sun began to set and a luminous moon appeared in an inky black sky, followed by countless twinkling stars. He had just enough time to make out the minute constellations of Orion and the Plough before several shooting stars shot suddenly across the horizon, leaving a trail of sparkling dust.

“WOW!” he gasped, watching the brilliant spectacle before setting the watch back to the correct time again.

He turned it over then, and was surprised to find that his real name, Angus McFangus, had been engraved in sweeping, curly letters on the back. He slipped it onto his wrist quickly, hoping that no one else would ever see his name there and start asking questions for which he had absolutely no answers.

Two minutes later, the second bell rang. Angus opened his door and poked his head into the hallway, just in time to see half a dozen other lightning cubs emerging from their own rooms. The door that led to the girls' end of the hall was also open. He was extremely relieved to see that he wasn't the only one wearing a shiny yellow poncho. A girl with long hair the color of horse chestnuts was struggling to keep her own coat off the ground, and a short round boy with spectacles had been given a pair of extra-large earmuffs—which looked like they'd been made for an Indian elephant.

“Gather round quickly, everyone, we haven't got all morning!” came a loud voice, and Angus saw a tall man waiting for them at the foot of the spiral staircase. Dressed in his own yellow coat and rubber boots, he had a bushy mustache and a single eyebrow. Where the other eyebrow should have been, there was nothing but a shiny pink scar.

“First things first,” he announced, smiling genially at them all. “I will collect your signed declaration forms, please.”

There was a sudden scuffle of feet as everyone tried to hand him a form at once. Angus, at the back of the throng, noticed five impressive lightning bolts pinned to the front of the man's coat.

“Lightning Catcher Oliver Mint's the name,” the man announced, stuffing the declarations into his pocket, “and I'm here to get you started on your first day at Perilous. So, if you'll follow me . . .”

He led them away from the Octagon without any further explanation, then down into a series of long stone tunnels and passageways that crisscrossed Perilous like the rippling veins of a massive stone heart. Some of these tunnels were peppered with locked, rusting doors and dark, mysterious alcoves, while others were completely bare except for a few flickering light fissures, which crackled overhead. None had any windows, and Angus couldn't help shivering as they plunged deeper and deeper into the dark, twisting labyrinth.

They finally came to an abrupt halt outside a huge, round, steel-framed door set in the middle of a wall, with what looked like a steering wheel attached to the front of it.

“First thing tomorrow morning,” Catcher Mint said as they gathered in front of him, “you will each be assigned to a lightning catcher and begin your training in one of the departments that you visited yesterday.”

Angus crossed his fingers, hoping he didn't get assigned to the Lightnarium. Beside him, the boy in the extra-large earmuffs looked faintly sick.

“Before you begin your training, however, it is crucial that we test your weatherproof clothing for any faults, leaks, or hidden punctures. In a moment, I will be guiding you through the weather tunnel to do just that.” He pointed to the round door behind him. “The tunnel is more commonly used to simulate the difficult and often dangerous weather conditions a lightning catcher may face, while coming to grips with wet sandstorms in the Sahara, for instance, or tackling ice fogs in the frozen north. Normally, you wouldn't be allowed inside it until you're a sixth-year lightning cub, but as we have been given special permission to use it by Principal Dark-Angel herself. . . .”

Angus gulped. Edmund Croxley had said something very similar on his guided tour of the Octagon—just seconds before a storm vacuum had tried to suck the hair off his head.

“Now if you'll all wait here, I will just make sure the weather tunnelers are ready for us.”

Catcher Mint opened the round door with a twist and a tug, and before any of the lightning cubs could see what was lurking behind it, he'd pulled himself through and closed the door again with a loud
clunk
.

For a few moments, nobody spoke. Then, slowly, trainees all around began tightening their woolly scarves, pulling up their socks inside their boots, and speaking to one another with quiet apprehension. Angus tried to calm the butterflies in his own stomach by glancing around at his fellow lightning cubs for the first time. There were nine others in all. And Angus couldn't help wondering if any of them had been brought to the Isle of Imbur by a bad-tempered lightning catcher in the middle of the night.

“Hello,” a voice suddenly said beside him, making him jump.

Angus turned around to find the boy in the large earmuffs smiling at him warily. His face was round and friendly, his deep green eyes hidden behind a pair of small glasses. His hair was jet black and had obviously been cut quite recently, with the aid of a mixing bowl and a pair of blunt scissors. Angus liked him instantly.

“You weren't on the tour yesterday with everyone else, were you?” the boy said.

“Um, no, I . . . got here a bit late,” Angus explained, hoping the boy wouldn't ask him why.

The boy turned faintly pink and grinned. “I'm Dougal Dewsnap.”

“Angus . . . Doomsbury,” Angus said, wondering if he'd ever get used to his new name.

“It's a bit different here, isn't it?” said Dougal. “My dad sent me because he says I need some gumption. I wanted to go to school on the mainland, but he wouldn't let me.” Dougal grinned sheepishly. “What about you? Why are here?”

Angus hesitated. “Um, dealing with the weather sort of runs in our family,” he eventually said.

Dougal nodded as if he understood this completely. “Which part of the island do you come from, anyway?”