The Storm Tower Thief

by Anne Cameron

  “McFangus, isn’t it?” He smiled in a genial manner, as if there was nothing at all odd about sitting inside a frozen room. He was wrapped up warmly in a thick cloak and fur hat, with extra flaps to cover his ears. “If you could just slip behind the curtain and put on the shorts provided, we’ll get started straightaway.”

  “S-shorts?” Angus gulped, hoping he might have misheard the instructions.

  Catcher Sparks sighed impatiently. “Just do as you’re told, McFangus. We haven’t got all day.”

  Angus changed quickly into the shorts and then stepped back into the room. The air was bitingly cold on his exposed skin, and he folded his arms across his chest, trying to hold some heat in around his vital organs. His feet were already like blocks of ice.

  “It’s important to know how your body reacts to the cold, to measure your personal cold threshold, in order to give you the right equipment,” Doctor Fleagal explained, coming out from behind his desk. He took a small color chart from his pocket and held it up against the skin on Angus’s arm. “Hmm. You, for instance, appear to be a healthy shade of blue with undertones of raspberry and pink, suggesting a high tolerance to cold weather.” He jotted down the results in his notes, then shoved something thick and spongy between Angus’s teeth. “Bite down hard on this teeth-chattering gum, if you please.”

  Angus was already having trouble making any part of his face work properly; the quivering in his jaw was uncontrollable.

  “Under normal circumstances, all you younger lightning cubs would simply stay inside with hot-water bottles and cups of cocoa until these dreadful storms had passed,” Doctor Fleagal added, taking the temperature at the tip of Angus’s nose. “But as you will be starting a new phase of your training this term, we cannot afford to take any chances.”

  Angus wondered what new phase he was talking about. Was Catcher Sparks planning a camping trip on a glacier, perhaps?

  “Now for the all-important snowball test,” Doctor Fleagal said, and he sat back down behind his desk.

  “S-s-s-snow-b-ball?” Angus shivered, struggling to get the word out through his numb lips. Violent shivers were now rippling through his entire body, and he was almost positive he could feel an icicle forming on the end of his nose.

  “It’s nothing to worry about, Angus. An automatic snowball-lobbing machine will simply hurl a few frozen missiles in your direction so we can study the effect of ice particles on your skin.” Doctor Fleagal indicated a machine beside him that looked dangerously like something Uncle Max could have invented. It was quivering ominously.

  “All lightning catchers are put through these exact same tests before they are sent to some of the coldest places on earth. It is an essential part of their assessment.”

  Angus did not find the information comforting.

  “If you could just stand perfectly still and allow a couple of snowballs to hit you, three or four should do the trick.”

  The first snowball shot over his head before he was really ready. He dodged the second one clumsily, bare feet slipping on the icy floor, and fought off a strong desire to pick it up and throw it straight back.

  “Stand still, McFangus, or you’ll do yourself an injury,” Catcher Sparks ordered in an irritated voice.

  Angus stared at her for a split second. But it was just long enough for the next slushy snowball to catch him square in the chest.

  Thud!

  A second one smashed into his ear before he could get out of the way, causing him to lose all feeling in his lower lobe. A third hit him hard on his arm.

  “Ow!”

  And then it was over.

  “Excellent, McFangus.” Doctor Fleagal was already on his feet, inspecting Angus’s skin through a magnifying glass. “There’s a slight stinging on the limbs, but no raised bumps or cracked ribs. We could place you on one of the Antarctic teams tomorrow, and I doubt you’d even require any automatic earlobe warmers. You can put your clothes back on now. Take this to the supply room through the door at the back,” he added, tearing a slip of paper from his notes and handing it to Angus. “They will sort you out with the extra winter clothing that you require. And I must insist that you drink at least one mug of hot chocolate before leaving the supplies department.”

  Angus got dressed with difficulty. His fingers were far too cold to tie his shoelaces, and he quickly gave up. He slipped into the adjoining room before Doctor Fleagal could turn him into a human snowman.

  The supply room was instantly warmer. Shelves and drawers filled with assorted woolens stretched all the way up to the ceiling. A bored-looking man in green coveralls took the slip of paper from him silently and issued him some electric blue thermal underwear while Angus gulped down a creamy hot chocolate. There was also a red sweater, two underarm hot-water bottles, a pair of fur-lined snow boots, and an assortment of knitted socks and hats.

  “For goodness’ sake, Dewsnap!” Catcher Sparks suddenly yelled from the frozen room next door. “Stop whimpering; it’s just a snowball!”

  Angus couldn’t help wondering if it might have been easier all around to sneak back into Perilous in the dead of night, when everyone else was fast asleep. Because so far it hadn’t been quite the cheery return he’d spent the whole of Christmas dreaming about.

  Fifteen minutes later Dougal had also been issued with a huge pile of extra woolens, as well as a miniature ice scraper to deal with any frosty buildup on his glasses. And they headed back down through the Exploratorium to dump their new gear in their bedrooms.

  It was obvious that most trainees and lightning catchers had already been through the same ordeal in the Antarctic testing center. Some were sporting black eyes and nasty ice rashes; others were wincing heavily with every step. Everyone appeared to be wearing thick sweaters, pom-pom-covered hats, and fur-lined boots.

  “This place gets more mental every day,” Dougal grumbled, gingerly touching an angry red circle on his cheek where a snowball had struck him.

  Angus was glad when he finally entered the relative safety of his own room. It was warm and cozy, with a fire already burning in the grate. Somebody had placed an extra rug on the floor and a pile of blankets at the foot of his bed. He smiled. Freezing snowballs or not, he felt as if he’d come home at last.

  “Where do you reckon Indigo is?” he said, dumping his own bag and his cold-weather gear on the duvet. “Should we look for her up in the kitchens first, or ask someone to knock on her door in the girls’ corridor?”

  “Er, I don’t think that will be necessary,” Dougal said, suddenly looking awkward.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’d better come and see for yourself.” He nodded toward the Pigsty. “It might look a bit different from the last time you saw it,” he warned, throwing Angus an apologetic look.

  Angus and Dougal had discovered a tiny hidden room, nestled between their two bedrooms, on their very first day at Perilous. They had quickly named it the Pigsty because of the state they’d found it in. Since then, they had spent many comfortable hours there, sitting before the fire, reading books and discussing the thrilling events that had occurred at the Exploratorium. And Angus had grown extremely fond of it.

  Now, however— He stopped suddenly and stared, shocked by the changes that had taken place to the tiny room. Colorful pictures of lightning storms and snowflakes had been pinned to the walls. An old rug covered the floor; there were neat little cushions in every chair. Most surprising of all, Indigo was sitting cross-legged on the floor, flicking through a small book, her long horse chestnut–colored hair tied up out of her way. She looked so pleased to see them both, however, that it was hard to be annoyed with her.

  “Angus!” she gasped, turning pink with surprise. She quickly slid her book back into her bag, making sure it was closed properly, before jumping to her feet. “Principal Dark-Angel let you come back! But why didn’t you tell us?”

  “I didn’t get much of a chance,” Angus said, grinning at the shocked look on her face.

  In
digo was normally rather shy and nervous, except when faced with impossible dangers and certain injury. It had taken her ages to make friends with them both. This was mainly due to the fact that Scabious Dankhart was her uncle, a detail that she was keen to conceal from everyone else at Perilous.

  “Oh, but it’s wonderful to see you both! And it’s so good to be back at Perilous! Did they make you go through that horrible snowball thing when you arrived? I’ve been waiting down here for hours.”

  “What exactly are you doing here, Indigo?” Angus asked. “I thought girls weren’t allowed inside the boys’ rooms.”

  “It wasn’t my fault,” Dougal said hurriedly. “I didn’t invite her in or anything. She just sort of found me in here.”

  “Found you?”

  “It was more like an ambush, actually,” Dougal explained. “I was sitting in here one night, just after Dark-Angel sent you back to Devon, when I heard somebody tapping on the ceiling.” He pointed upward. “And then, before I knew what was happening, this trapdoor opened above my head.”

  “I found it hidden at the back of Felicity Keal’s wardrobe,” Indigo interrupted.

  Angus frowned at them both, confused. “What were you doing in Felicity Keal’s wardrobe?”

  “Well, technically speaking, it’s my wardrobe now. Felicity’s a second year, she wanted to swap rooms with me because hers looked out over the gravity railway and it gave her vertigo every time she glanced out the window, and I honestly didn’t mind.”

  Angus stared straight up at the ceiling. He’d never even realized that there were any lightning cub rooms on the floor above his own.

  “And then one day I was clearing some space in my wardrobe and I discovered a trapdoor,” Indigo gushed, face alight with excitement. “There was a folding ladder for me to climb down. And I’ve only made a few changes to the Pigsty,” she said, glancing around at the cushions. “I thought it needed a bit of cheering up.”

  “Yeah, it looks loads better now,” Angus lied. He definitely preferred it the way it had been before, dust and all.

  “And I really haven’t set a single foot inside either one of your bedrooms, so technically, I’m not breaking any rules. Isn’t it amazing?”

  “Blinking marvelous,” Dougal said, rolling his eyes with a faint grin.

  After a slightly rocky start to their friendship, Dougal had finally decided that Indigo could be trusted at the end of their last term, when she had played a crucial role in their race to uncover the lightning vaults. It was obvious, however, that he was less than thrilled with the idea that she would be sharing their Pigsty from now on.

  “Honestly, it’s been an absolute nightmare,” Dougal said in a low murmur as Indigo bent down to rake through the glowing coals in the fireplace. “I never know when she’s going to appear. I thought about boarding up the trapdoor, obviously, but now she’s in, there’s just no keeping her out.”

  He stopped talking abruptly as Indigo came to stand beside them again.

  “So what did happen with Principal Dark-Angel?”

  They sat in front of the fire as Angus repeated everything that had occurred from the moment his uncle had turned up at the Windmill to the daring descent from the weather station as it hovered over Feaver Street.

  “And then we came back here this morning and got pelted with snowballs by Doctor Fleagal,” Dougal finished, rubbing the sore patch on his cheek. “They could have just asked us if we were feeling a bit chilly.”

  “Something else happened this morning, too,” Angus said, suddenly remembering the conversation he’d overheard at Feaver Street. This was the first real chance he’d had to tell either of them that Dankhart was responsible for setting off icicle storms around the globe. And he quickly told them both everything he could remember about the secret message from his dad.

  “I can’t believe the maniac’s at it again!” Dougal gasped as soon as Angus had finished. “I mean, first he bombards us with newts, frogs, and shooting stars, and now this.”

  “But these icicle storms are far more dangerous,” Indigo said, looking worried. “They could seriously injure someone.”

  “Or worse,” Angus agreed, remembering his uncle’s concerns about someone’s being killed. “According to Jeremius, my dad’s been hearing rumors for weeks now. Dankhart’s definitely up to something.”

  “Yes, but what?” Indigo frowned.

  Dougal sighed heavily. “Why can’t Dankhart just do some nice, harmless experiments on fluffy snowflakes for a change, or go on holiday and give us all a rest? Why does he have to behave like a raving lunatic the whole time?”

  “Jeremius is also worried about the fact that Dankhart knows I’m a storm prophet now,” Angus said, staring down at his fingers. “It’s one of the reasons he brought me back to Perilous.”

  “But what’s that got to do with anything?” Dougal asked, mystified.

  Angus shrugged. “He just said he didn’t know what Dankhart might do, now that he knows about me.”

  “Well, have you seen any fire dragons lately?” Dougal lowered his voice. “I mean, did you see any when you and Jeremius got caught in the icicle storm?”

  Angus thought back to the terrifying descent from the weather station and shook his head.

  “Then it’s not worth worrying about, is it?” asked Dougal.

  Angus wished he could feel so sure. He hadn’t seen any of the strange, mysterious creatures since his encounter with Dankhart in the lightning vaults. He’d generally tried not to think about storm prophets or fire dragons. But he couldn’t stop them from creeping into his dreams, where they blazed with such intense heat that he woke up dripping with sweat. And he was certain he hadn’t seen the last of them yet.

  “There’s something else,” he said, quickly deciding to share his doubts about his new uncle. “Why didn’t my uncle just show me the note from my dad? I mean, why be all secretive about it?”

  Dougal shrugged. “Maybe he didn’t want you to know about Dankhart’s causing trouble again.”

  “Or worry you about the icicle storms,” Indigo added.

  “Yeah, maybe, but how do I know I can trust him if he isn’t going to show me important stuff like that? And what if he’s hiding other things?”

  Angus shifted in his seat, hugging his knees to his chest. He still couldn’t shake off the feeling that his uncle wasn’t being completely honest with him. Had he really been on a solo expedition for the last few months, or was there another reason why he’d only just introduced himself? There had also been mysterious midnight trips to Feaver Street that even Dougal had been unaware of. Could his uncle be trusted?

  “What’s a Farew’s, anyway?” Angus asked, suddenly remembering another part of the conversation at Feaver Street. “Jeremius said my dad sent him that message in a Farew’s.”

  “A Farew’s is a safe way of sending urgent messages to people when you don’t want them read by anyone else,” Dougal explained. “Its real name is a Farew’s qube, though, because it’s shaped exactly like a small wooden cube. It’s covered in all these markings and carvings, and— What’s up with you?” Dougal broke off, looking puzzled. “You look like you’ve just found a snowball down the back of your pants.”

  Angus was on his feet in seconds, charging back to his room. He emptied the contents of his bag onto his bed, not bothering to pick up the shoes and socks that rolled onto the floor, and grabbed the wooden cube that had appeared in his bedroom on Christmas morning. He hadn’t given it a single thought since leaving the Windmill. He stared at it now, hardly daring to hope, his heart hammering loudly.

  “Where in the name of Percival Vellum’s bad breath did you get that?” Dougal scrambled out of his chair as Angus rushed back through the door, holding the qube in the palm of his hand so they both could see it.

  “It turned up in my bedroom at Christmas, and I’ve been trying to work out what it is ever since.”

  “Well, it’s definitely a Farew’s qube, all right.” Dougal took it from him ea
gerly for a closer inspection. “And if your dad just sent a message to your uncle inside one of these . . .”

  “Then the chances are there’s a message inside this one, too,” Angus said, gulping.

  “It’s a bit of a major coincidence if there isn’t. These things are really rare.”

  “So how do we get it open?” Angus asked impatiently, desperate to hear what his parents had to say to him.

  “Ah.” Dougal’s face suddenly fell. “I haven’t got the foggiest idea.”

  Angus was so used to Dougal’s being clever with words, puzzles, and the unraveling of secret clues that he’d hoped his friend might open the qube before their very eyes.

  “Couldn’t we just force it open?” Indigo asked. “I mean, if the message is important.”

  But Dougal shook his head. “If you do that, anything inside gets automatically destroyed, I remember my dad saying. It’s one of the measures to stop other people from reading a private note.”

  Angus, however, was tempted to take his chances. And he quickly decided that if none of them had come up with any ways of opening the strange qube by the morning, he was going to hit it with the biggest hammer he could find and hope for the best.

  Angus lay in his bed the following morning, half expecting Dougal to come bursting into his room with the Farew’s qube already cracked and the secret message revealed. And it wasn’t until he finally poked a toe out from under his covers that he realized something felt different. The air in his room was now distinctly chilly. A thin layer of ice had formed on the inside of his bedroom window. The glass of water on his bedside table had also frozen solid. It was obvious that the temperature inside the Exploratorium had dropped dramatically overnight.

  He got dressed quickly, feeling glad for the first time that he now had a pile of extra woolens to keep him warm. He was just pulling on a thick pair of stripy knitted socks when he noticed that someone had slipped a note under his bedroom door. Angus recognized the prickly handwriting on the envelope instantly; it belonged to Catcher Sparks. He opened it cautiously, wondering if he and Dougal were about to be sent for a second round of testing in the Antarctic center before breakfast. The note began in familiar frosty tones.