by Anne Cameron
“Then there was a great commotion,” Gudgeon said. “The igloo started collapsing around our ears, and the spores were melting, thanks to you and that lightning heart.” He shook his head in disbelief. “I told Jeremius you’d be off doing something risky, wrestling with polar bears or getting yourselves into trouble. And I was right. Only you three could get trapped under a snow dome by a lunatic monsoon mongrel. Adrik Swarfe always was a sly one, mind,” he added.
“You—you remember Adrik Swarfe when he was a lightning catcher, here at Perilous?” Indigo asked, surprised.
Gudgeon nodded, his face grim. “I reckon he’s been keeping that old lightning heart up his sleeve, just waiting . . . I’ll never forget the day he deserted this Exploratorium, or the trouble he left behind him like a stinking trail of dead fish.”
Angus stared at Gudgeon, desperate to ask more. But—
“I’m so sorry, Angus. This is all my fault.” Jeremius gripped him tightly by the shoulder.
“What? No! Of course it isn’t!”
Jeremius quickly steered him away from the others so they could talk in private. “I have not been completely honest with you, Angus. I do work at the Canadian Exploratorium, but I spend the rest of my time trailing monsoon mongrels around the globe, trying to prevent them from causing trouble with the weather.”
Stunned, Angus held his breath, waiting for more.
“It is top secret, dangerous work. I turn up in odd places at odd times, and occasionally the danger follows me. It was easier for your mum and dad to pretend I didn’t exist. Evangeline sent cards and letters every Christmas, but I have watched you grow from a distance.”
“So all that stuff about not getting in contact, about being on a solo expedition before you turned up at the Windmill . . . ?”
“It was partly true. I was trying to disrupt the activities of some monsoon mongrels who were experimenting with volatile icicle storms,” Jeremius explained.
“But you told Doctor Fleagal that you got the scar on your chin when you were staying at Castle Dankhart,” Angus blurted out, determined to uncover the whole truth this time.
Jeremius looked surprised. “Perhaps this is not the best time to discuss that particular adventure. But it was one of the most dangerous of my life. If I had learned anything that would help get Alabone and Evangeline out of those dungeons, I would have used it without hesitation. I am sorry, Angus. I have not been a very good uncle. I should have told you about the message from your dad as soon as I arrived at the Windmill, but I didn’t want to get your hopes up. I thought you might believe the message could somehow lead to plans for a rescue. But it was a serious error of judgment on my part, and I apologize for underestimating both you and your friends.” He shook his head and stared down at his battered snow boots. “If you had come to me, or Gudgeon or Rogwood, with the note inside your own qube, none of this would have happened. I’m supposed to be keeping you out of danger, and instead . . . Your mum is going to kill me when she finds out what happened here last night.”
Gudgeon joined them again, chuckling. “She’ll do more than that, if I know Evangeline. She’ll be chasing you across that Rotundra with a flock of angry lightning moths.”
Angus couldn’t help smiling. The thought that his mum, dad, and Jeremius might all be together in the same room someday, even if it did involve lightning moths, made him feel slightly more cheerful. The thought that Jeremius had been on his side the whole time, that he could trust his uncle as much as Dougal and Indigo, made him want to burst with relief.
He and Indigo were allowed to visit Dougal up in the sanatorium later that day, under strict instruction from Doctor Fleagal not to tire him out. Dougal looked extremely pale, but he was enormously pleased to see them both. They chatted quietly about Rogwood’s and Gudgeon’s escape until Doctor Fleagal disappeared into his office and Germ had gone to clean out some vomit buckets. Then—
“So, what happened?” Dougal asked, suddenly agitated. “How come we both haven’t been frozen solid by the ice diamond spores? The last thing I remember is lobbing the lightning heart over to you, and then my fingers started to freeze. . . .”
Angus told them everything he could remember about the lightning heart, how it had come back to life in his hands and how he’d accidentally destroyed it.
“Wow! I bet Swarfe wasn’t happy about that,” said Dougal.
“Using Cid was a brilliant idea,” Angus said, thinking back to Dougal’s moment of inspiration when he’d set the lightning moth loose in the snow dome. “Where is he, by the way?”
Dougal frowned. “Swarfe trampled him to the ground. There was nothing left but a few coiled springs and a wing tip.”
They spent the rest of the afternoon discussing the fact that Swarfe could not have carried out his despicable plans alone, that someone inside the walls of Perilous had helped him.
“It’s got to be Valentine Vellum!” Dougal hissed. “I mean, they worked together in the Lightnarium.”
“And Angus found the photograph to prove it,” said Indigo.
“Yeah, and Vellum was the only one who agreed with him about trying to find the lightning vaults and opening them up again.”
“It might also explain why Gudgeon hates him so much,” Angus said, thinking it through, “if he believes Vellum’s in it up to his rubber boots, too.”
“But what can we do about it?” Indigo said. “We can’t accuse him of planting ice diamond storms all over Perilous without some proof.”
“I’m not sure Dark-Angel would believe us even if we caught him in the act,” Angus said. “She’s the only person in this whole Exploratorium who actually seems to like him.”
“She’s also the only person who can get rid of him,” Dougal pointed out with a sigh.
Two days later, Dougal left the sanatorium with strict instructions not to get overexcited about anything. Catcher Grimble also returned to the research department and resumed the supervision of their duties as lightning cubs. “I don’t even mind if he calls me Agnes anymore.” Angus grinned as the doddery old lightning catcher struck up a heated argument with his favorite hatstand.
The weather, too, was showing welcome signs of improvement. All ice diamond storms had now ceased. The icicle storms were finally fizzling out around the globe. Warm spring sunshine began to melt the deep drifts of snow and ice, allowing lightning catchers from Greenland, Canada, and Scotland to return to their own Exploratoriums at long last, which also meant that Dougal and Germ could reclaim their bedrooms.
“Ew! I don’t know who’s been sleeping in here, but it reeks of cheesy feet,” Dougal complained, opening the window and letting some fresh air in.
Angus was also glad to have some privacy back. He put the Farew’s qube away in his bedside table, along with the forged note, which he couldn’t quite bring himself to throw away, even though he knew it was a fake. And then the moment he’d been dreading arrived.
“Hey, Angus!” Edmund Croxley stopped him as he was about to leave the kitchens two days later. “I’ve got a message from Principal Dark-Angel. She wants you to meet your uncle in the entrance hall immediately.”
“Hang on a minute.” Angus grabbed Edmund’s arm before he could disappear. “Did Dark-Angel look like she was in a bad mood?” He had a horrible feeling that he was in for it. The last time he, Dougal, and Indigo had tried to tackle a notorious villain on their own, she’d sent him straight back to the Windmill as a punishment.
He met Jeremius a few minutes later, but instead of heading up to Dark-Angel’s office, his uncle took him down toward the Rotundra.
“There’s no need to worry,” said Jeremius, smiling. “This has nothing to do with iceberg hopping or polar sinking grass.”
“Then what . . .”
“I think it’s better if I let Principal Dark-Angel explain it to you herself, Angus.”
The principal was already waiting for them in the changing rooms, with a serious-looking Rogwood and Gudgeon.
“Ah, Ang
us. I trust you are feeling rested after your ordeal?” She began with a slightly less frosty smile than usual.
“Er . . .”
“I have brought you down to the Rotundra, because Adrik Swarfe left something behind before he fled,” she continued. “It was intended for you. It might be best if you study it by yourself first. We will wait out here for a few moments, to give you some privacy.”
Angus glanced at Rogwood, who nodded. Jeremius simply smiled.
“Go on, boy,” Gudgeon urged. “There’s nothing waiting to freeze your brains or suck your blood this time.”
Angus entered the snow dome warily, just in case. Now that Swarfe was gone and the ice diamond spores had melted, it had a much brighter, cheery feel. But Angus shivered anyway.
He’d only taken a few more steps when he saw it. Flickering slightly at the far end of the cave was a projectogram. Angus approached it suspiciously, wondering if Dark-Angel was planning to put him through one last training session. It was only when he stood directly in front of it that he finally understood. Angus swallowed hard. His mum and dad gazed back at him. Their leather jerkins were tattered and torn; their hair was disheveled; their faces were thin, pale, and gaunt. They were standing in a dungeon; it was bleak and grim, with no natural light.
Swarfe had left the projectogram behind on purpose—a cruel parting shot, designed to fill Angus with fresh despair and torment. But Angus spotted something, a detail so insignificant that he was certain nobody else, including Swarfe, could have noticed it. And he felt his heart leap.
His dad was holding the small white pebble that he’d kept as a souvenir from a great family trip to the beach. The message was crystal clear. His mum and dad had not given up yet. They intended to return, to complete the stone-skimming game with Angus. It was better than any note scribbled inside a Farew’s qube. It was a secret, personal sign, sent straight from the dungeons of Castle Dankhart.
“I must thank you, Angus.”
Angus turned. Dark-Angel had followed him into the snow dome. She was now watching him with great interest.
“Adrik Swarfe would have caused us a great deal of trouble with a newly revived lightning heart. It is a shame that it was destroyed during the events in this snow dome. It might have proved useful to us here at Perilous. And it was extremely unwise for you, Mr. Dewsnap, and Miss Midnight to try and tackle such a dangerous person without the help of the lightning catchers.” She frowned for a fraction of a second. “But I am willing to overlook any foolishness on your part on this occasion.”
Angus gawped at her in surprise. He’d been expecting another telling-off; this was almost more puzzling.
“Once we have examined the projectogram for any clues it may provide about your parents, and their exact whereabouts in Castle Dankhart, you are welcome to take it if you wish.”
“What, seriously?” Angus said, amazed. “I mean, thanks very much, Principal Dark-Angel.”
“I have also asked Jeremius to escort you back to the Windmill and stay with you there until you have fully recovered from this distressing episode. It is not a punishment, Angus,” she added hastily, seeing his face fall. “Perilous is your home now. You will continue your training as a lightning cub. But I think it is also time you learned more about the other storm prophets that once lived and worked at this Exploratorium. And that requires a small detour.”
“A detour?”
“I will say nothing more about it for the moment, Angus,” she said, almost kindly. “Your uncle will explain when you are thoroughly rested. And I will see you upon your return to Perilous.” And she smiled briefly and left him alone with the projectogram once more.
“Well, you’re not the only one who’s being sent home this time,” Dougal informed him when Angus returned to the Pigsty later.
“Catcher Sparks just put up a notice in the kitchens,” Indigo explained. “Principal Dark-Angel’s giving everyone two weeks off.”
“She’s what?”
“Yeah, the decontamination team wants to give the whole Exploratorium a thorough cleaning, and the supplies department needs to restock; they’ve completely run out of weatherproof gear,” Dougal said with a shrug. “And the kitchen staff is exhausted.”
For the next twenty-four hours, the lightning cubs’ living quarters were buzzing with the excitement of the unexpected holiday and the sounds of disorganized packing. Angus persuaded Theodore Twill to give Dougal another lightning moth.
“Wow! Thanks, this one’s even better than Cid.” He grinned. “No wonky wings.”
Several spur-of-the-moment parties broke out, but the biggest and loudest took place in Germ’s room. Angus and Indigo thoroughly enjoyed a mad pillow fight with Nicholas Grubb and Juliana Jessop before Catcher Mint finally broke up the celebrations.
And then the moment came to leave. Angus dragged his bulging bag out to the gravity railway in the pleasant morning sunlight, wishing he and Jeremius could return to Feaver Street for another visit instead.
“Cheer up, we’ll be back before you know it,” Jeremius said, joining them in the long queue that had already formed. “And I’ve just had word from Maximilian. He’s finally got the pods back under control. Although he seems quite excited about his latest invention . . . something called an instant inflatable ice storm stopper.”
“Well, that doesn’t sound hazardous at all,” Dougal said with only a slight hint of sarcasm.
Indigo looked mildly concerned. “But not everything your uncle invents is dangerous, is it?”
Angus considered the question carefully. Dangerous was tackling Adrik Swarfe with the powerful lightning heart in a Rotundra full of lethal ice diamond spores, or leaping across drifting icebergs in the middle of a heavy snow bomb bombardment. Nothing Uncle Max invented could ever come close to that. And Angus couldn’t wait to return to Perilous, after his mysterious detour, to start their next adventure.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ANNE CAMERON got the original idea for this book after reading an article about fulgurites, which are formed when lightning strikes sand with such ferocity that it melts the particles together and forms amazing, rootlike glass tubes. What would happen, she wondered, if lightning bolts could be caught deliberately, by expert lightning catchers?
Anne Cameron lives in England.
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CREDITS
Cover art © 2014 by Greg Call
Cover display type lettering © 2014 by Jim Labbad
Cover design by Paul Zakris
COPYRIGHT
This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used to advance the fictional narrative. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.
THE LIGHTNING CATCHER: THE STORM TOWER THIEF
Copyright © 2014 by Anne Cameron
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
www.harpercollinschildrens.com
Black-and-white illustrations by Victoria Jamieson
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Cameron, Anne.
The storm tower thief / by Anne Cameron.
pages cm.—(Lightning catcher ; [2])
Summary: When Scabious Dankhart engineers an outbreak of deadly ice diamond spores, causing chaos and illness, eleven-year-old Angus, who c
an predict and control catastrophic weather, and his school chums must find the legendary lightning heart—a stone of great power—in order to put everything right.
ISBN 978-0-06-211279-8 (hardback)
[1. Weather—Fiction. 2. Schools—Fiction. 3. Adventure and adventurers—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.C1428St 2014 [Fic]—dc23 2013045268
EPub Edition © May 2014 ISBN: 9780062112828
14 15 16 17 CG/RRDH 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
FIRST EDITION
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