The Lightning Catcher: The Secrets of the Storm Vortex (28 page)

“It is far more likely that Alabone and Evangeline are doing everything in their power to make his life as difficult as possible, spinning him wild stories, giving him false information,” Jeremius reassured him.

When they'd finally exhausted all talk of Dankhart, Swarfe, and their plans for the lightning towers, the conversation returned to Delphinia Dark-Angel.

“I'm afraid we now find ourselves in a very tricky situation.” Rogwood paced up and down the room, thinking aloud. “Delphinia is highly respected both here and around the world. Any accusations that she is in league
with Scabious Dankhart will be disbelieved at every turn. For the time being at least, the best thing we can do is tell no one and do nothing.”

“But, sir—”

Rogwood held up his hand to stop him. “We must not reveal what we know, Angus, before we are ready to act upon it.”

“Rogwood and I need time to understand the situation properly, to discover just how far Delphinia's betrayal goes,” Jeremius said.

“If she discovers in the meantime that we know of her activities, it will force us into taking action before we are ready and possibly end in disaster. We must be patient.”

“But can't you do
anything
?” Angus asked.

“The best thing any of us can do right now is to behave as if Delphinia Dark-Angel were our closest friend and ally, however difficult that may be.” Jeremius sighed. “And speaking of Delphinia . . .” He stood up and stretched. His face was more serious than Angus had ever seen it. “She will be wondering where we've got to. I will see you in her office when you have finished, Aramanthus.”

Rogwood nodded. Jeremius smiled wearily at Angus and then left the room quietly.

“Angus, I would like us to pay one final visit to the Inner Sanctum,” Rogwood said as soon as he'd gone.

“Er, what? Now, sir?” Angus asked.

“Yes. It is an important part of your storm prophet education, Angus, and, given yesterday's events, more vital than ever. And we may not get another chance. I will wait for you at the top of the spiral stairs.”

Angus grabbed the same clothes he'd worn the night before, pulled on his shoes, and crept quietly along the corridor, being careful not to wake Dougal. Was Rogwood going to explain more about the dragon scales and the storm particles? Was he going to ask more questions about the appearance of the fire dragon?

He followed Rogwood silently up the marbled steps to the Octagon. Perilous was eerily quiet and deserted.

“For today's lesson, Angus, I must take you to a part of the Inner Sanctum we have not yet visited.” Rogwood led him straight into the department and through the door that Angus, Dougal, and Indigo had entered in their search for answers. “This room contains an archive of important
information in many different forms,” Rogwood explained as he led Angus past the tottering piles of books and under the melting words, which wafted gently around them. He stopped abruptly in front of Hartley Windspear, the holographic projectogram, who was watching them keenly.

Angus swallowed hard, hoping that the projectogram wouldn't reveal the fact that they had already met.

“Good morning, Hartley,” Rogwood said politely, as if he were addressing a fellow lightning catcher.

The projectogram stared hard at Angus but said nothing.

“Holographic projectograms were developed may years ago, Angus, as part of the famous holographic history range, but they quickly developed some unfortunate problems,” Rogwood explained. Angus tried to look as if he'd never heard this information before.

“They are kept in this particular room to stop them from roaming all over Perilous and making a nuisance of themselves. They are, however, extraordinarily knowledgeable about Perilous and the best source of information for our purposes.”

Rogwood turned to the projectogram again. “Hartley, could you please tell us everything you know about
Nathaniel Fitch, Tobias Twinge, and Nicholas Blacktin?”

Angus stared at Rogwood in surprise. This wasn't what he'd been expecting. Fitch, Twinge, and Blacktin were the only storm prophets that Rogwood had told him nothing about so far.

Hartley Windspear drew himself up to his full height, looking set to reveal something big. Angus could feel it quivering in the air, and his heart began to race.

“In the early days of Perilous, after the ravages of the Great Fire, there was much disagreement among the storm prophets over the course their development should take,” the projectogram began in a somber voice. “Some of the new storm prophets wished to continue with the dangerous practice of lightning capture. Philip Starling, Edgar Perilous, and the rest of the senior lightning catchers quickly forbade such dangerous experiments, however, and a bitter rift developed. Tensions came to a head when Fitch, Twinge, and Blacktin hatched a terrible plan to unleash the power of the never-ending storm in the lightning vaults, to force Starling and Perilous to acknowledge their power. But the plan went tragically wrong. The storm quickly
got out of control and killed Jacob Starling and Fabian Perilous.”

Angus stared at the projectogram, the true horror of his words slowing sinking in. “It was the storm prophets? They set the never-ending storm free on purpose?”

Rogwood nodded once but said nothing, allowing the projectogram to continue with his story.

“Fitch, Twinge, and Blacktin quickly fled from Perilous, leaving the remaining storm prophets to contain the deadly storm. But they did not travel far.” Hartley Windspear took a deep breath and hung his head sadly before continuing. “They found a refuge for their dreadful talents at Castle Dankhart and were welcomed with open arms. There they were free to follow their most dangerous ambitions and set about their quest to control the weather, to create some of the most deadly and despicable storms known to man. They soon formed themselves into the band of dangerous weather engineers we know today as the monsoon mongrels.”

Angus shook his head in disbelief. “But, sir, it can't be true!”

“I'm afraid there can be no doubt.” Rogwood sighed
sadly. “As you have discovered yourself, Angus, the talents of a storm prophet extend well beyond the ability to predict when dangerous weather will strike. Fitch, Twinge, and Blacktin found they could also control and shape the weather, a talent most suited to the ambitions of the Dankharts and the newly formed monsoon mongrels. We have been battling against their weather experiments and terrible innovations ever since. It is one of the reasons the storm prophets are not widely talked about. Everyone knows what can happen when the talent is born into the wrong person. Over the generations, the Dankharts married children of Fitch, Twinge, and Blackfin, so Scabious Dankhart himself is directly descended from those renegade storm prophets and the same talents lie dormant within him.”

“Is that why Dankhart could see my fire dragon in the lightning vaults when nobody else could?” Angus asked, suddenly understanding.

Rogwood nodded. “We have known since those early days that any storm prophet could see another's fire dragon. When you asked me at the time, I could not explain it without revealing the full history of the storm
prophets. As your talents were still so newly born, it would have been unfair to place such a burden upon your shoulders. But Dankhart has seen your potential from the start and with it the possibility of reviving his own skills. Let me also remind you, Angus, that
most
storm prophets were fine and noble men and women,” Rogwood added. “You should be proud to count yourself among them. You have used your own skills in the most desperate of times to save your friends and yourself from certain harm or death. I believe in time your abilities will rival those of the great Moray McFangus himself.”

Angus stared down at his shoes, feeling a hot flush of embarrassment burn across his face. “Is that why Principal Dark-Angel wanted to do those tests with Doctor Obsidian, sir, to see if I could control the weather?”

“Delphinia has always been keener than anyone to see how far your talents extend. Sadly it would appear now that her motives have been less than admirable.”

“Principal Delphinia Dark-Angel,” the holographic projectogram suddenly said, making Angus jump, “senior lightning catcher at the Perilous Exploratorium; head of the global lightning catcher network; chair of the
worldwide weather warning committee. Hobbies include gardening and Cradget's crossword puzzles. One known family member, Humphrey Dark-Angel, younger brother.”

“Principal Dark-Angel has a brother?” Angus asked, surprised. He'd never heard anyone mention Humphrey Dark-Angel before.

“Sadly Catcher Dark-Angel died some years ago in a tragic accident at Perilous. He was a kind and intelligent man, who is sorely missed to this day by those of us who had the pleasure of working with him. And now I believe we should return to the main Exploratorium before everyone else awakes,” Rogwood said, checking his weather watch. “We have some difficult days ahead of us, Angus, and it will not help if we are seen coming out of the Inner Sanctum at such an early hour.”

Angus waved at Hartley Windspear as he followed Rogwood back toward the door, wondering what else the projectogram could tell him about the storm prophets.

Over the next few days a flood of new images appeared in the
Weathervane
showing the lightning tower over Castle Dankhart from every possible angle. It was obvious that stormy weather had already started to gather above it.

Catcher Tempest from the London office arrived at Perilous for urgent discussions with Dark-Angel. He was followed by a growing number of experts and senior lightning catchers from around the globe. The gravity railway could be heard, night and day, traveling up and down like a yo-yo. Mrs. Stobbs darted about the Exploratorium with endless trays of tea and biscuits, looking frazzled. Lightning cub duties, however, continued as normal, but Angus, Dougal, and Indigo found it impossible to concentrate on their work in the forecasting department. They spent most of their time instead discussing the shocking revelations delivered by Hartley Windspear.

“I still can't believe the monsoon mongrels were formed by the storm prophets,” Indigo said quietly.

Catcher Killigrew had given them a jumbled pile of old weather documents to sort into alphabetical order. Catcher Wrascal still hadn't returned to Perilous.

“All the storm prophets must have died out at Castle Dankhart, too,” Angus said, still thinking through everything he'd been told. “That's why Dankhart and Swarfe have been trying to steal never-ending storms, revive lightning hearts, and get their hands on our fire dragon scales.”

“Yeah, they must have used up all the dragon scales from their own storm prophet tombs years ago,” Dougal said.

Angus was highly tempted to sneak back into the Inner Sanctum to ask Hartley Windspear for more details about Fitch, Twinge, and Blacktin. But another part of him was happier not knowing . . . for now.

To his great surprise, four days after their eventful trip to Little Frog's Bottom, he was summoned up to Dark-Angel's office. He hovered nervously outside the door for several minutes, wondering if she had discovered that he and Indigo had seen her in the bone merchant's. Was he about to walk into the biggest trouble of his life?

He knocked on her door and entered the office with his heart pounding inside his chest. He was extremely relieved to see Rogwood, Gudgeon, and Jeremius had also been called in to see her. Rogwood stood calm and impassive. Jeremius winked from the corner of his eye. Dark-Angel was sitting behind her desk. It was the first time Angus had seen the principal since discovering she was a traitor. She met his stare without the faintest trace of guilt or remorse on her face.

“Angus, I have called you here to tell you what we know about your parents and their situation inside Castle Dankhart,” she began, fixing him with a steady gaze.

“Have you heard from them?” Angus asked, instantly forgetting all his other worries. “Are they safe?”

“I'm afraid we've had no word from them directly. But one of our sources inside the castle has sent reliable information that they are safe and sound. Neither Dankhart nor the weather vortex has done anything to harm them.”

Angus nodded, feeling immensely relieved. He had feared, after their encounter in the bone merchant's, that Dankhart might take revenge on his parents.

“I realize this has been a difficult few months for you, Angus, with the worry about your parents and your storm prophet lessons in the Inner Sanctum,” Dark-Angel said, showing uncharacteristic concern for his well-being. “I hope, however, we can continue with those lessons. Now that you have learned about the storm prophets it is time to consider developing your own skills, under strict supervision, of course.”

Angus swallowed hard. Was Dark-Angel simply
following instructions from Dankhart? Was she going to train him up, then hand him over to the monsoon mongrels?

“For the time being, however, you will depart Perilous with everyone else in two days' time at the start of the Christmas holidays.”

“C-Christmas?” Angus had almost forgotten. Because of the vortex over Castle Dankhart, there had been no decorations, no carol singing, or any mention of presents.

“Please give my regards to your uncle Max; I'm afraid I've had very little time for writing Christmas cards this year.”

“Er,” Angus said, wondering how Dark-Angel could be worried about sending cards with such a huge betrayal hanging around her neck.

Despite news that the Christmas holidays were fast approaching, the atmosphere in the kitchens and living quarters remained subdued. Every discussion still centered on the events in Little Frog's Bottom and whether Christmas would be spoiled by the presence of the menacing lightning tower. Germ, however, had finally finished his exams and celebrated his new freedom by
organizing a series of thrilling lightning moth races, which came to an end only when Theodore Twill's moth flew straight into Catcher Mint's room and destroyed the contents.