The Storm Tower Thief

by Anne Cameron

  A faint smile curled Dark-Angel’s lips. “It would seem that simple projectograms of thunderstorms are not enough. Angus’s fire dragon will appear only in moments of extreme danger. We will have to be more imaginative in the future if we are to see what he is truly capable of.”

  Angus stared at the principal, flabbergasted.

  “Aramanthus, will Angus be able to resume his training in a few days’ time?” she asked, apparently showing a distinct lack of concern for his well-being.

  “Certainly, if that is what you truly wish, Delphinia.” There was a strong warning in Rogwood’s tone. “But I would recommend giving Angus at least two weeks’ recovery time. This evening has taken a great deal of effort on his part. It will also give Doctor Obsidian a chance to fine-tune his projectograms.”

  “I’ve got a better idea what Obsidian can do with his projectograms,” Gudgeon muttered, scowling. “You might as well throw the boy into the Lightnarium if that’s how safe these storms are going to be.”

  “The training sessions will continue as planned, and that is my final word on the subject,” said the principal.

  And with that, she swept out of the room with Valentine Vellum trailing behind her, leaving Angus more confused than ever.

  Gudgeon escorted Angus back to his bedroom, muttering furiously under his breath about “dangerous, dim-witted doctors” and their “wretched photographs.” As soon as he’d gone, Angus found Dougal and Indigo waiting for him in the Pigsty, where he gave them a blow-by-blow account of his brush with the ice diamond storm.

  “But that’s a horrible thing to do!” Indigo said, hugging her knees tightly to her chest. “I can’t believe Principal Dark-Angel let you think it was a real storm!”

  “Yeah, but she was the one who asked Valentine Vellum to zap Angus’s brains with some low-voltage lightning, remember?” Dougal looked shocked all the same. “Just tell her you’ve got snow boot boils next time,” he added earnestly. “If she thinks you’re contagious, she might leave you alone.”

  Angus finally went to bed, wondering what Dark-Angel was planning to put him through next time. Would he be forced to protect himself from snow bomb bombardments? Or abandoned on his own in the middle of the Imbur marshes, where fognadoes and fog yetis roamed freely?

  At three o’clock in the morning, Jeremius woke him quietly and sat on the end of his bed, trying not to disturb Dougal and Germ, who were both now sleeping soundly.

  “Rogwood told me what happened in the testing tunnels,” he said, looking angrier than Angus had ever seen him. “I’ve already had words with Principal Dark-Angel. As your closest relative at this Exploratorium I’ve forbidden her to conduct any more sessions for the foreseeable future.”

  “Seriously?” Angus whispered. “Wow! Thanks! That’s brilliant!”

  “She wasn’t happy about it,” Jeremius added with a faint grin. “She threatened to send me back to the Canadian Exploratorium for interfering. She kept going on about the fact that you’d given your permission. But those projectograms aren’t safe. You could have been seriously injured. I’m sorry, Angus.” He shook his head in disbelief. “If I’d known what she was planning . . . Your mum and dad would never have allowed it. Nor would they forgive me if I let anything happen to you. And ice diamond storms, fake or otherwise, are about the worst thing that could happen to anybody.”

  Angus suddenly felt extremely glad he had an uncle who could stand up to Dark-Angel and stop her from having his brain cells fried, even if Jeremius was keeping dark secrets from him.

  “But I don’t understand,” he whispered as Dougal turned over on his camp bed, snoring gently. “Why is Dark-Angel so keen to have me tested in the first place?”

  Jeremius thought for a second before answering. “It has been a very long time since we’ve had a living storm prophet at this, or any, Exploratorium. Accounts we have of their skills come from documents, some hundreds of years old, and although they are fascinating to read, they don’t give us a complete picture. I think Delphinia Dark-Angel wants to see for herself just how capable you are of understanding the elemental dangers of a violent storm.”

  Yet there was something more. There was another reason why Dark-Angel was so interested in him. Angus was sure of it. He could almost sense it, lurking beyond the horizon like a cloud full of poisonous fog.

  “But why does it matter to Dark-Angel so much?”

  “After tonight, I’m afraid Delphinia Dark-Angel is unlikely to share her private thoughts with me on any subject,” Jeremius said quietly as Dougal stirred in his bed again. “I have a feeling Aramanthus Rogwood may be persuaded to tell us more. But now is not the time to ask.” He ran a hand over his tired face. “Perhaps when we are no longer being bombarded with icicles and ice diamond storms?”

  Angus nodded, suddenly thinking of something else he’d far rather ask his uncle instead. “D-do my mum and dad know about me being a storm prophet?”

  “It is possible,” Jeremius said, considering the question carefully. “After what happened in the lightning vaults, there may have been whispers and rumors, even at Castle Dankhart.”

  “But did they know before? I mean, when I was younger, did they ever say anything about me being . . . different?”

  Jeremius shook his head. “Absolutely not. Nobody had the faintest idea. But they will be extremely keen to talk to you about it once they return to Perilous.”

  For one brief moment, Angus considered telling Jeremius everything about the secret message in the Farew’s qube, which he kept safe under his pillow at night, and their desperate search for the mysterious lightning heart. And simply asking, while he was at it, whether Jeremius had ever stayed at Castle Dankhart, betraying Perilous, the lightning catchers, and every McFangus on the planet. But his dad’s instructions had been clear. He was to tell no one what he was looking for. Not even his uncle.

  A few days later, Angus woke to an unexpected shaft of feeble sunlight shining through his bedroom curtains. He scrambled out of bed, being careful not to stand on Germ, who was still fast asleep. He scraped a patch of ice off his window and smiled.

  “Hey!” he whispered, chucking a pillow at Dougal’s head. “It’s stopped snowing! Get up!”

  Twenty minutes later, after wolfing down four toasted bacon muffins in the kitchens, they joined a stream of excited trainees, all heading toward the gravity railway. Principal Dark-Angel had decided to allow everyone access to the grounds immediately surrounding Perilous, so that they could enjoy the watery sunshine.

  “Brilliant!” Dougal grinned, pulling on a pair of gloves as they squeezed into the packed carriage. “This will be a nice change from all the dark tunnels, dingy rooms, and libraries we’ve been cooped up in just lately. I was starting to feel a bit nocturnal.”

  In the days following the fake ice diamond storm, Angus, Dougal, and Indigo had renewed their efforts to find the lightning heart and had taken the slightly less risky approach of searching for any clues in the research department.

  “I mean, your mum and dad must have heard about the lightning heart from somewhere,” Dougal commented when they found a section that had escaped the ravages of the spores and started looking through mountains of dusty documents. Unfortunately, they also encountered several unexpected booby traps, which Indigo and Angus managed to subdue before they created a commotion. But all they uncovered was a dated book on lightning catcher fashions through the ages, stuffed behind a heater, and a collection of Imbur Isle seaweed recipes, which only Uncle Max would ever have been brave enough to attempt.

  Angus was determined to continue searching, however. His mum and dad were counting on him, and he couldn’t let them down. He had to find the lightning heart, no matter what.

  He held on to his stomach with both hands as the gravity railway carriage plummeted toward the ground. He was extremely glad when they reached the bottom with a gentle bump.

  The air outside the carriage was crisp and wintry. The skies to the east still looked dark and threa
tening, with clouds full of fresh snow and ice. But for the time being, at least, the storms had stopped.

  The views of Perilous were breathtaking. Icicles ten feet long hung from every rocky protuberance. And the whole Exploratorium shimmered in the weak sunshine. Little Frog’s Bottom looked like a scene from an old-fashioned Christmas card, covered in thick layers of snow, with smoking chimneys and sloping roofs.

  “You’d think we’d be totally sick of the white stuff after everything we’ve done in the Rotundra,” Angus said, grinning.

  Everywhere he looked, trainees and teachers were already making the most of their sudden freedom. Edmund Croxley and Theodore Twill were locked in a fierce snowball battle. Catcher Trollworthy was helping a group of third-year girls build an impressively large snowman, complete with leather jerkin and snow boots. Rogwood and Miss DeWinkle were leading a party of novice skiers through a tree-lined slalom course nearby.

  “What shall we do first?” Angus said.

  “Fancy a game of dodge, you two?” Indigo appeared from behind them with Georgina Fox.

  “What’s dodge?” Angus asked.

  “Don’t! It’s just like the snowball test we did with Doctor Fleagal, and it’s totally brutal!” Dougal exclaimed. “I played it with my cousins once . . . and ended up with a broken nose.”

  “In that case, you’re on!” Angus said. “Me and Dougal against you and Georgina!”

  To his great surprise, Angus thoroughly enjoyed playing dodge, and for the first time in ages he managed to put all thoughts of Dankhart and ice diamond storms aside. It was a wonderful release just to dart about in the snow, getting hot, letting off steam, and having nothing more important to worry about than where the next snow attack might come from.

  Germ turned up an hour later with a collection of sturdy trays decorated with lightning bolts from the kitchens, which were ideal for sledding. And they spent the rest of the morning racing, spinning, and colliding with one another on the slopes of a bumpy hill.

  “Listen, I’ve been meaning to ask. Have you heard anything more about my uncle Jeremius?” Angus asked Germ when he suddenly found himself alone with Indigo’s brother at the bottom of the hill.

  “ ’Fraid not.” Germ shook his head, showering Angus with fresh snow. “I’ve tried wheedling it out of old Fleagal a couple of times, of course. I told him all about my evil uncle Scabby and pretended to get upset about it. I’ve asked him if he knows anyone who’s ever been inside Castle Dankhart and that sort of thing.”

  “Wow. Thanks,” Angus said, impressed. “And?”

  “And if old Fleagal knows anything juicy about your uncle, he’s keeping it hidden under his stethoscope.”

  By lunchtime, Angus was ravenously hungry. He could hardly feel his toes, and his ears were stinging painfully. He followed Indigo, Dougal, and a stream of lightning cubs now heading back to the gravity railway, wondering if Principal Dark-Angel would let them do it all over again tomorrow.

  By the next morning, however, the brief respite in the weather was over, and the icicle storms returned to Imbur with a vengeance. The temperature inside the Exploratorium dropped dramatically once again. Ferocious winds drove long shards of hard ice against the towering rock, rattling windows and hammering on doors. Angus woke several times every night convinced the building was about to collapse. The situation had not improved when they arrived at the research department one morning to find the door blocked by a stern-looking Catcher Sparks.

  “What’s going on, miss?” Angus asked, standing on his tiptoes, trying to see over her shoulder.

  “There’s been another ice diamond storm, McFangus. There’s no need to be alarmed,” she added quickly. “No one was hurt this time. Luckily for us, the storm failed to go off properly, no real damage was done, but we’re not taking any chances. The entire area has been sealed off until it’s been thoroughly searched and decontaminated. I suggest you head back to the kitchens and wait there for further instructions.”

  Angus, Dougal, and Indigo loitered in the Octagon for several minutes, however, hoping to sneak into the department and take a look at the damage for themselves. But it was hopeless.

  “For goodness’ sake, get out of the way!” Catcher Sparks yelled at them eventually. “The decontamination team can’t do their work with you three skulking about.”

  They returned to the kitchens a few minutes later and were greeted by a scene of total confusion. Large groups of grumbling lightning catchers and cubs were milling about, forming a ramshackle line by the door.

  “There’s some sort of blockage up ahead,” Dougal said, trying to see through the gaps in the crowd. “Edmund Croxley’s not letting anyone into the kitchens.”

  “What’s going on?” Angus asked Nicholas Grubb, who was standing with a group of his fourth-year friends.

  “Croxley’s being an idiot, as usual,” Nicholas said, sounding annoyed. “It’s all right for him. He’s already had his breakfast, but we’ve all been out doing some early-morning temperature checks and we haven’t eaten anything yet.”

  Edmund Croxley, however, had a different explanation.

  “There’s been another ice diamond storm!” he informed them importantly when Angus, Indigo, and Dougal eventually managed to push their way to the front. “The kitchens are now out of bounds until the decontamination team has finished cleaning up.”

  A shocked murmur spread around the waiting crowd.

  “But . . . the same thing’s just happened in the research department,” Angus said.

  “Go on, Croxley, let us have a quick look for ourselves,” urged Nicholas, who was now standing behind Angus. “We won’t tell anyone you let us in.”

  “Certainly not!” Edmund drew himself up to his full height and stared down his nose at the gathered crowd. “Now listen here, everyone! I’ve been instructed by Principal Dark-Angel herself to direct all you lightning cubs back to your living quarters. The principal has assured me that there is no significant damage, the storm failed to go off properly, but they’re not taking any chances. All meals will be brought to you in your rooms today.”

  “I don’t care what Croxley says, this is getting really serious,” Dougal muttered as they followed the other trainees down the spiral stairs. “Two failed storms in one day? What if one goes off properly next time, in the kitchens or the living quarters, when they’re crammed full of people?”

  “We can’t just sit around here waiting for it to happen again,” Indigo said, flopping down in her favorite armchair in the Pigsty. “There must be loads of places we haven’t looked for the lightning heart yet.”

  “Yeah, like the Lightnarium . . . Valentine Vellum’s bedroom . . . Dark-Angel’s sock drawer,” Dougal said, counting them off on his fingers. “Basically all the places you never want to get caught snooping.”

  Angus flung himself into the chair beside Indigo. So far, their search for the lightning heart had been a spectacular failure. They still didn’t have a clue what the lightning heart actually was or how they were going to find it before everyone in the Exploratorium was frozen solid.

  In the days that followed, a somber atmosphere descended upon Perilous like an invisible fog. Everywhere Angus went, lightning catchers and cubs were discussing the latest ice diamond storms in hushed voices, wondering where and when the next one might strike.

  There were also frequent evacuation drills; at the sound of a noisy warning claxon, they were herded down to the frozen cloud garden, where they shivered in the cold until their names had been checked off a long list.

  In the meantime, extra lightning catchers had been drafted into the experimental division, where frantic efforts were being made to invent a device that would stop the ice diamond spores from spreading.

  “Well, they’ve got to try something, haven’t they?” Dougal said wisely one day, as they were almost flattened by a group of lightning catchers charging through the entrance hall with what looked like a giant net shopping bag. “Storm vacuums won’t work because the
spores would freeze the insides, and storm bellows would just scatter them even farther. I wonder how the lightning heart works. I mean, if your dad’s right and it can stop the spores . . .”

  “I wish I knew,” Angus said. “We’ve got to find it before it’s too late.”

  Their chance came sooner than Angus expected, at the end of a very dull Thursday in the research department, which had now been thoroughly decontaminated once again. Catcher Castleman had put them to work in the map room, cleaning an eccentric collection of wintry, ice-covered charts that showed the location of glaciers in Iceland. The odd maps sparkled and dazzled brilliantly under the light fissures, doing strange things to Angus’s vision. By the end of the afternoon, he had large silvery blobs dancing before his eyes. And as they crossed the Octagon, he accidentally tripped over a pile of storm bellows, scattering them noisily in every direction.

  “McFangus! Do watch where you’re going.” Catcher Sparks appeared from the experimental division as Angus stood up and brushed himself off.

  “I’m sorry, miss. It was an accident.”

  “Accident or not, those storm bellows have just been cleaned and oiled. They might be needed any day now if the weather continues to deteriorate. In fact, Clifford Fugg was supposed to have moved them into the supplies department hours ago,” she added, glancing around the Octagon for signs of the absent lightning cub. “I assume you three can be trusted to complete the task without causing any further damage?”

  “But, miss!” Dougal began to protest.

  “Tell Catcher Merriweather that I sent you. And no dawdling, Dewsnap.” Catcher Sparks glared at him. “I expect this pile to be cleared away before any of you go down to the kitchens for dinner.”

  “I’m going to kill Clifford Fugg!” Dougal moaned as they each picked up an armful of storm bellows and staggered through the door to the supplies department. “It’s roast beef and mash for dinner, and if all the mashed potatoes are gone by the time we’ve finished this . . .”