The Lightning Catcher: The Secrets of the Storm Vortex (3 page)

At the far end of the gallery, Jeremius led the way through yet another set of heavy doors and into a deserted corridor.

“Angus.” Jeremius turned to face him at last. “Late last
night I received a message from Principal Dark-Angel.”

“Oh,” Angus said, feeling slightly nervous. Messages from Dark-Angel didn't always bring good news.

“She has asked me to escort you to the Starling Museum today so that you can learn more about being a storm prophet.”

“Oh,” Angus said again, suddenly understanding.

In his early days at Perilous, he had made the startling discovery that the fire dragon he'd been seeing in his dreams meant he possessed a rare gift for predicting when dangerous weather was about to strike.

Unfortunately, this strange ability had attracted the attention of Scabious Dankhart and his chief monsoon mongrel, Adrik Swarfe, who had tricked Angus into reviving a powerful lightning heart, created in the Great Fire of London. In doing so, Angus had experienced new levels of storm prophet strangeness, which nobody had explained to him yet.

Principal Dark-Angel, however, had promised him some answers and that this would involve a small “detour” before he continued his training as a lightning cub. It was obvious now that this detour had brought him to the
Storm Science Museum.

“There is no need to worry,” Jeremius said, spotting the anxious look on his face. “I have Delphinia's solemn promise that you are simply here to
learn
about the storm prophets and nothing more. That is why we are meeting with Trevelyan Tempest. There will be no tests, projectograms, or angry weather to deal with; you will be perfectly safe.”

Angus nodded gratefully. Jeremius had already saved him once before from some rigorous storm prophet tests, conducted by Doctor Obsidian, which had involved his being attacked by violent weather projectograms. Principal Dark-Angel had been extremely unhappy about this intervention. Angus, on the other hand, was convinced it had saved him from serious injury or worse.

“Ready?”Jeremius asked.

“Y-yeah, I think so.”

Angus took a deep breath. Did one of the exhibition rooms at the museum have a display about storm prophets perhaps? Was that why Jeremius had brought him here? Would there be life-size replicas of fire dragons to poke and prod and fake storms to test his skills against? But
Jeremius strode to the darkest end of the corridor instead and stopped before a very plain-looking door concealed in the shadows.

He pressed a yellow button on what looked like an intercom beside it.

“Yes, can I help you?” asked a crackly voice on the other end.

“This is Jeremius McFangus from the Canadian Exploratorium. I've got an eleven o'clock appointment with Trevelyan Tempest.”

Angus could hear the sound of papers being shuffled. And then:

“Please answer the following security questions,” the voice asked. “Who wrote the
Pocket Book of All-Season Weather Words
?”

“Cecil Doldrum,” Jeremius said, pronouncing the name clearly.

“Name three different types of lightning,” the voice asked.

“Skyrocket lightning, tidal lightning, and lightning tarantulatis,” Jeremius answered without hesitation.

There was another short pause.

“Password?” the voice asked in a polite but firm tone.

“Snowballs.”

For several seconds nothing happened. Then:
click!

The door swung open, and without another word Jeremius disappeared through it. Angus hesitated for a second, then followed.

  
2
  
A LIGHTNING TOUR

T
he door closed itself behind them. They had entered a long, narrow corridor lit by a series of dim, flickering lightbulbs.

“What is this place?” Angus whispered as they took a left turn and continued down the dingy passage.

“This is the London office.”

“Seriously?” Angus almost tripped over his own feet in surprise.

Dougal had mentioned the existence of a London office during the previous term. Angus had imagined a vast Exploratorium hidden under Hyde Park. But he definitely hadn't expected a gift shop, a Lightning café, and tourists.

“But how long has the London office been inside the weather museum?” he asked, hurrying to catch up with his uncle.

“That's a very good question.” Jeremius glanced over his shoulder and smiled at Angus as the corridor took a sharp right turn and continued downward at a steep angle. “The lightning catchers have owned this grand old building for over two hundred years now, and in more recent times it has become a very popular museum. Last year I believe it was fifteenth in the top twenty visitor attractions in London.”

Angus stared at the back of his uncle's head as they continued down the featureless corridor, wondering why he'd never heard of it or visited it before.

“Such a splendid old building has given us a perfect opportunity to teach visitors about the science of storms, of course. But it also stops people from asking awkward questions about what else might be happening behind its doors.”

“So what else is happening?” Angus stared around, half expecting to see evidence of dangerous weather experiments or escaped thunderstorms, but the bare corridor gave nothing away.

“The main purpose of the London office is to coordinate lightning catcher movements across the globe,” Jeremius explained. “There are now hundreds of lightning catchers living in dozens of different countries, and if three teams from different Exploratoriums turn up to tackle the same storm, it's a huge waste of our time and resources. And the London office also monitors the worldwide weather situation and advises Principal Dark-Angel on the best way to tackle any rogue weather fronts or problems. Although she has the final say on any decision made here, of course, since she's head of the lightning catchers worldwide.”

“But what if someone accidentally finds the entrance?” asked Angus, looking back over his shoulder toward the door they'd just come through. “I mean, it's not exactly hidden, is it?”

“As I understand it, anyone entering through the door without the correct password is automatically diverted into an empty cupboard with an extremely smelly drain. I believe most people leave very quickly.”

Angus was still digesting this information when the corridor finally ended in a set of stone steps that led down into a large cellar. The crumbling vaulted ceiling, stone
pillars, and damp, musty, atmosphere were in stark contrast with the splendor of the museum that sat somewhere above it.

“Welcome to the London office,” Jeremius said, smiling at the shocked look on Angus's face.

Untidy desks, filing cabinets, and shelves were arranged in a haphazard fashion along one side of the room, where busy lightning catchers were hidden behind tall stacks of papers and box files. On the other side, the stone floor sank by several feet, creating a large rectangular pit where an enormous, highly realistic map of the world had been laid out. Miniature mountain ranges rose up to show the Himalayas and the Alps, with a long chain of mountains whose name Angus had forgotten stretching through South America. There were vast blue oceans with tiny waves crashing against rocky shores, and shifting sand dunes in barren deserts. Angus was convinced he could also make out the Great Wall of China, the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco, and the Sydney Opera House in Australia.

It was obvious to Angus, as he followed Jeremius across the room for a better look, that the map showed
the exact location of Imbur Island, Perilous, and every other Exploratorium around the world. There was a large structure in India; in America there appeared to be a huge Exploratorium hidden in the middle of a desert. In Africa one had been built beneath a dried-up lake.

“Excuse me, but are you two from the Brazilian team?” A woman with mousy-colored hair, dressed in a neat blue skirt and white blouse, suddenly appeared behind them, looking hopeful. “We were expecting you over an hour ago.”

“I'm Jeremius McFangus from the Canadian Exploratorium.” Jeremius shook the woman's hand. “This is my nephew, Angus. We're here to see Trevelyan Tempest.”

“Ah, yes, Trevelyan's waiting for you.” The lightning catcher turned to one of the younger-looking workers scuttling past them with an armful of files. “Charlie, please tell Catcher Tempest that his guests have arrived, and then
do
find out what's happened to the Brazilian team. They've got some extremely important decisions to make about the situation in the rain forest. I suggest you search the new interactive glacier
exhibit in the museum first; we had three lightning catchers from Hawaii last week who had to be rescued from a very awkward ice fracture.” The woman turned back toward Angus with a friendly smile as the other boy scurried away. “You've caught us on a bad day, I'm afraid. It's absolute pandemonium at the moment. Well, you can see for yourselves.”

She pointed to the map, and for the first time Angus noticed that among the mountain ranges, rain forests, and rolling hills there were countless pairs of tiny rubber boots, which were clearly being used to pinpoint the exact whereabouts of all lightning catchers at any one time.

“We've got teams on the banks of the Amazon sorting out a freak snowstorm,” the woman explained, pointing to the rubber boots in Peru, which were grouped around a large, glittering snowflake symbol. “We've got half a dozen of our most experienced lightning catchers chasing the tail of a stubborn electrical storm in China. And as for Tasmania . . .” She nodded toward a confusing collection of symbols situated close to the city of Hobart, which included more rubber boots than Angus could shake a stick at. “As you can see, we've
got the most enormous problem with a giant—”

“Sorry to interrupt, Celia.”

Before she could tell them exactly what was occurring in Hobart, another lightning catcher raced over, frantically waving a piece of paper at her.

“We've just had an emergency weather flash from Greenland and an urgent request for immediate help!”

The woman frowned. “But I thought we'd sorted that whole catastrophe out last night.”

“The blizzard cluster has changed direction and is now heading straight for the capital city of Nuuk. And if all the blizzards fall where we fear—”

“Yes, yes, I see.” The woman took a deep breath and rolled up her sleeves. “Then we must contact the Canadian Exploratorium immediately. They've got a team of experts visiting from Greenland, so they'll understand the local conditions. Ask Captain Frobisher on the dirigible weather station to transport as many snow plows, inflatable snowshoes, and instant emergency weather shelters as she can carry to the area. And for goodness' sake, somebody talk to the most senior lightning catcher at the Nuuk Exploratorium and
tell them not to attempt any foolish heroics!”

Jeremius pulled Angus safely out of the way as a frenzy of activity broke out all around them. Telephones began to ring like a flock of shrill-sounding birds. Several lightning catchers hurried across the map, moving yet more rubber boots into position around a sparkling blizzard symbol.

“Ah, Trevelyan, at last,” the woman said, staring over Angus's shoulder. “We've got another Greenland emergency I'm afraid.”

Angus turned around to see a tall lightning catcher striding toward them. He wore a smart tailored suit with a green silk handkerchief tucked into the top pocket of his buttoned vest; his hair was blow-dried to perfection in short, wavy curls.

“You are contacting the weather station and the Canadian Exploratorium?” Catcher Tempest asked.

The woman nodded. “I'll have to speak to Delphinia Dark-Angel, of course. We'll need her approval before we can deploy the emergency blizzard team.”

“Might I also suggest that you get an urgent message to Isadora Sleet at the Exploratorium in Alaska?”

Angus instantly recognized the name. Isadora Sleet
had written
The Subzero Survival Guide
, which all the first year lightning cubs had used the previous term in the Rotundra.

“She can offer some expert advice on the course the blizzard might take. Mention my name, and she'll be more than happy to help. I will return as soon as I've finished with my guests.” The lightning catcher continued. “McFanguses, if you will follow me, please . . .”

Catcher Tempest led them briskly to the far side of the room. Dodging several frantic lightning catchers, he bundled them through a small door and slammed it shut before Angus could take one last glance over his shoulder. The sudden silence of the empty corridor made his ears ring.

“Jeremius.” Catcher Tempest shook Jeremius by the hand. “How nice it is to see you again.”

The corners of his mouth twitched with the effort of a forced smile, and Angus got the distinct impression that he was anything but pleased by their presence.

Jeremius nodded once. “It's been a long time, Trevelyan. This is my nephew, Angus.”

“H-how do you do, Mr. Tempest?”

“Hmm . . .” The lightning catcher studied him for
several seconds. “Principal Dark-Angel has instructed me to give you a quick tour of lightning catcher London. She seems to be under the impression that you need a proper understanding of our earliest history.” He gave Angus a very skeptical look. Angus stared back, blinking.

“As you have already witnessed, you could not have picked a worse time for your visit.”

“We didn't exactly choose it on purpose, Trevelyan,” Jeremius pointed out. “We're here at Delphinia's request.”

“Nevertheless, my expert knowledge will be required if Greenland is to avoid a major incident.” He took an ornate-looking weather watch on a gold chain from his pocket and studied it. “I suggest we make an immediate start.”

“Not exactly friendly, is he?” Angus whispered as the lightning catcher shot ahead of them and disappeared around a bend in the corridor.

“That might have something to do with the fact that I accidentally trampled on his favorite antique weather watch some years ago. He's never quite forgiven me.” Jeremius smiled as they followed at a safe distance. “But he knows more about the history of the lightning catchers
and the storm prophets than almost anyone else. And London is where it all began.”

Angus swallowed hard. What was he about to discover about the storm prophets? What if he didn't like it, or it made him dangerous, too dangerous to be around Dougal and Indigo? He'd tried his best for a solid year to act as if he were just a regular lightning cub. But after what had happened with the lightning heart, he could no longer pretend, even to himself. The time had come to find out more.