by Anne Cameron
“Do you think it was a real explosion this time?” Dougal asked.
“It wouldn’t surprise me if those monsoon mongrels blew themselves to smithereens one day. But I reckon this is all part of Dankhart’s plan. He’s got something big going on, and no mistake, so you three had better keep your wits about you.”
“But what about my mum and dad?” Angus asked, swallowing a lump in his throat. “How can anyone be sure they’re still safe?”
“Now you three listen to me.” Gudgeon folded his arms across his chest and fixed each of them with a stern glare. “That leaky old castle’s got more secret passageways and tunnels than Perilous. If there had been a real weather catastrophe, those monsoon mongrels would be fleeing in all directions like a bunch of stinking water rats abandoning ship. And there’s been no sign of any fleeing yet. If there’s been a real accident at that castle, I’ll eat my own vest.”
Angus stared at Gudgeon, startled, not sure if the gruff lightning catcher was simply trying to stop him from worrying about his mum and dad or if he was telling the truth.
“Oh, no!” Indigo jumped up suddenly. She stared around the kitchen, which had almost emptied out while they’d been talking to Gudgeon. “We’ll be late for Catcher Wrascal.”
“Sit down, you three. You’re not going anywhere.”
Indigo frowned. “But we’ve got to get up to the weather archive.”
“You’re not doing anything with archives today. You’re coming with me.”
“But what for?” Angus asked warily.
Gudgeon checked his weather watch. “Meet me in the Octagon in ten minutes in your full wet-weather gear, and you’ll find out.” And he marched out of the kitchen without explaining any further.
“I definitely don’t like the sound of that.” Dougal gulped. “The last time Gudgeon took us for a lesson we ended up in the Rotundra, and look how well that turned out. I mean, we almost got killed by ice-diamond spores and snowbombs.”
“I wonder what he’s got planned for us this time,” Indigo said, looking eager to find out.
Angus crossed his fingers under the table, hoping that just this once it wouldn’t involve something treacherous or life threatening.
Ten minutes later they reached the marbled Octagon to find the rest of the second years waiting anxiously. Millicent Nichols, who was already allergic to fog, snow, and heavy rain showers, was biting her fingernails in a state of advanced nervousness. Jonathon Hake and Nigel Ridgely were talking with serious expressions. Pixie and Percival Vellum were standing to one side, separate from the rest of the group.
“Those two look more like a pair of gargoyles every time we see them,” Dougal said as they hovered behind Georgina Fox.
Angus grinned. “Maybe Dark-Angel will throw them out of Perilous this year for being extra thick.”
“Yeah, or extra ugly!”
Gudgeon appeared a few moments later, and a tense hush fell around the marbled hall.
“Right, you lot. Due to recent weather events here on Imbur, Principal Dark-Angel has decided that all lightning cubs, from the second year and up, need some special additional training.”
Angus glanced sideways at Indigo.
“Training will take place with me inside the storm hollow, which you won’t have heard anyone talking about, even though it’s one of the oldest parts of Perilous.”
“What on earth’s a storm hollow?” Dougal whispered as a low murmur swept around the Octagon. “And why isn’t anyone allowed to talk about it?”
“Before we go any further,” Gudgeon continued, “I’m supposed to warn you lot that weatherproof clothes must be worn at all times in the storm hollow. Random checks for rubber boot leaks will also be carried out. So you’ve been warned!”
Angus glanced down at his own boots, which hadn’t been cleaned since the previous term. They were starting to pinch his toes, and he had a sneaking suspicion they no longer kept the rain out. What would they have to protect his feet from in the storm hollow?
“I also need everyone’s signature on the sheet at the bottom of this declaration,” Gudgeon said.
“I knew it!” Dougal whispered as Gudgeon shoved a clipboard at a worried-looking Violet Quinn and told her to pass it around. “I knew there’d be another declaration to sign. If this storm hollow turns out to be even more dangerous than the Lightnarium or the Rotundra . . .”
Angus took the clipboard from a pale Nigel Ridgely when it was his turn. The declaration attached to it had clearly been read many times before and was smeared with sticky fingerprints and something that smelled like regurgitated carrots. It was also the shortest declaration he’d signed so far. It said:
We, the undersigned, promise never to mention the storm hollow or anything that happens inside it. Anyone caught whispering about the storm hollow in the kitchens, bathrooms, other communal areas of the Exploratorium will be expelled immediately. Anyone caught drawing pictures, passing secret notes, or frightening first year lightning cubs with tales of the storm hollow will also be expelled. There will be NO second chances!
Angus added his signature to the bottom of the page and passed it onto a quaking Dougal. He still had absolutely no idea what they were about to face in the storm hollow, but if they had to promise not to frighten the firstyears with any of the details . . .
“Right then, you lot, follow me,” Gudgeon barked as soon as everyone had signed the declaration, “and no dawdling at the back!”
He turned on his heel and headed straight toward the Lightnarium. Jonathon Hake and Violet Quinn both gasped in unison.
“There’s no need to get your rubber boots in a twist,” Gudgeon said, opening the door. “This is the only way to reach the storm hollow.”
Angus felt his heartbeat quicken as they filed through the door, his eyes finding the faded fire dragon that had been etched upon it long ago. Instead of taking them into the Lightnarium, however, Gudgeon veered off to the left, leading them down a steep set of spiral stairs just inside the door.
The steps continued downward for what felt like hours. When they finally reached the bottom, feeling hot and sweaty, they were met by a steel safety door.
“Stay close to me once we’re inside the storm hollow,” Gudgeon warned. “Don’t go wandering off, and don’t touch anything unless I give my permission, understand?”
Angus held his breath as the gruff lightning catcher opened the door with a twist and tug and shuffled them inside. For a moment, he could see nothing but the back of Georgina Fox’s head; then:
“Angus! Look!” Indigo was tugging urgently on the sleeve of his coat.
Angus saw it a split second later and almost choked. At the far end of the storm hollow a huge dark castle bulged out from the rocky wall behind it.
“It’s Castle Dankhart!” Indigo whispered. “I know it is!”
“I don’t believe it!” Dougal said, standing wideeyed beside them. “What’s it doing in here?”
The castle, complete with turrets, windows, and an eerie, foreboding silence, loomed over them in a very sinister fashion. An extremely realistic mountain range with snowcapped peaks emerged from the bare rock on either side of it, just as they’d seen in the Weathervane less than an hour ago. Up close, grotesque gargoyles protruded from the crumbling walls and turrets.
Georgina Fox gave a small sob and clung to Violet Quinn’s arm. Even the Vellum twins looked uncomfortable, and they shuffled about at the back of the group. Indigo, however, was rigid. This was the castle where part of her family still lived. She looked appalled by its very existence.
“Calm down, you lot. That castle isn’t real. It’s just a projectogram used for senior lightning catcher training,” Gudgeon told them. “That’s not what you’re here for today.”
He reached down into the shadows where a small box with two lenses sat half hidden. He removed a plate from the back with a clunk. The castle instantly disappeared. Angus felt his fists unclench. Indigo let out a long, quivering breath as Gudgeon gathere
d them together before him.
“No lightning cub has ever set foot inside this hollow before,” he announced, “but Principal Dark-Angel’s decided you need to know the worst of it. As fully qualified lightning catchers you’ll spend plenty of time in cold countries fighting blizzards and trekking through invisible fog, but the weather coming out of Castle Dankhart gives us more trouble than all the hurricanes, typhoons, and snowstorms put together. You’ve already had a taste of it. You’ve seen the damage ice-diamond storms can cause, and Dankhart and his monsoon mongrels are capable of worse.”
Angus could now feel Indigo trembling beside him.
“The storm hollow is used to study and understand any new weather that emerges from Castle Dankhart. The extra-high ceiling allows the storm to rise, unfold, and develop to its full potential. That way we can learn how to tackle any dangers those mongrels can throw at us.”
Angus looked up for the first time since entering the hollow. Even with his head thrown back he couldn’t see all the way to the top.
“You’ve all seen the pictures in the Weathervane,” Gudgeon said, sounding extremely serious. “There’s a vortex hovering over Castle Dankhart. It’s volatile, unpredictable, and capable of showering Perilous with all kinds of dangerous weather. If it were just a matter of dodging a few flying fish and some hailstones, we would have sent you into the weather tunnel or the Rotundra, and you’d be none the wiser about the storm hollow. But this vortex contains traces of something far more lethal.”
Gudgeon led them over to the far side of the hollow, where seven enormous storm jars stood in a row; each contained a different sample of violent-looking weather. Angus checked his weather watch, which had now gone completely haywire, showing him blizzard cautions, fog alerts, and rubber boot overload warnings all at the same time.
“The samples inside these jars were taken from the seven most severe and deadly storms ever to have occurred on the planet. Every single one of them happened right here on Imbur.”
A shocked hissing sound like a slowly boiling kettle swept around the storm hollow.
“And every single one of them was created by the Dankharts and their monsoon mongrels as a weapon, to turn against those they wish to control and destroy.”
Indigo gave a small involuntary sob, looking deathly pale.
“Normally only fully qualified lightning catchers learn how to tackle the deadly seven, but as traces of all these storms have been found within the vortex hanging over Castle Dankhart, Principal Dark-Angel has decided you need to see what damage they can cause with your own eyes. You need to experience just how deadly they can be.”
“You mean you’re going to set those storms on us, sir?” Georgina Fox asked, her voice rising in alarm.
“There’s no need to panic, Fox. All you’re doing today is learning more about what’s in these jars.”
A thick silence pressed in all around. The fact that Gudgeon had made no promises to keep them safe from the contents of the jars the next time they entered the storm hollow had not been lost on anyone.
“Right, let’s get a better look at these jars. I’ll explain more about the contents as we’re going around, so pay attention,” he barked, making Millicent Nichols yelp. “I’ll also be asking questions at the end of this lesson, and anyone who gives the wrong answer will be scrubbing out storm drains for the rest of the week.”
Gudgeon marched over to the first jar. It was taller than the gruff lightning catcher by several feet. Angus glanced guiltily at Indigo. They’d seen several jars just like it when they’d sneaked into the Dankhart archive.
“Scarlet sleeping snow,” Gudgeon said, tapping the first jar with his knuckles. Angus peered over Jonathon Hake’s shoulder, trying to get a better look at the bloodred flakes of snow falling inside the jar. “Not to be confused with red snow, which is colored by the presence of minute algae called Protococcus nivalis, or with blood rain, which is created when dust particles, blown in from the Sahara, combine with normal drops of rain. As the name suggests, scarlet sleeping snow can induce an overwhelming sense of sleepiness, causing its victims to lose consciousness in dangerously cold conditions and putting them at serious risk of hypothermia, frostbite, and eventually death. This particular sample was collected after a party of lightning catchers was rescued from Mount Maccrindell, where they’d been sent to study a troop of fog yetis. The lightning catchers in question were found only just in time, having been buried by the stuff for several hours. Scarlet sleeping snow is one of the monsoon mongrels’ nastiest inventions. Make sure each of you gets a good look at it before we move on to the next jar.”
Angus shivered as he pressed closer to the glass, which felt extremely cold to touch. The snow had a strangely hypnotic effect, making his eyelids feel exceptionally droopy, his thoughts muddled and slow.
“You wouldn’t last five minutes in a shower of scarlet sleeping snow, Munchfungus,” Percival Vellum hissed, pushing past Indigo and elbowing Dougal out of the way. He stood squarely in front of Angus with a very smug look on his face. Pixie followed, pigtails swinging. “You and Dewsnap would be blubbing like a couple of first years before the first flake fell.”
“Shut up, Vellum, nobody asked you!” Angus took a step closer, his fists clenched. Up close, the twins looked even uglier than usual.
“There’s no need to be so touchy.” Percival sneered. “I’m just pointing out the basic facts.”
“Yeah, well here’s another fact,” Dougal said, standing shoulder to shoulder with Angus. “You two wouldn’t know what to do with a pair of gum boots in a puddle of rain.”
Angus grinned at Indigo, who only managed a weak smile in return. Percival Vellum’s face, however, darkened.
“You and your pathetic little friends had better watch it this year,” he said, looming over them. “Me and Pixie are sick of getting into trouble because of you three.”
“It’s not our fault you act like brainless idiots the whole time,” Angus said angrily. “You can’t blame us for that.”
“We can blame you for anything we want,” Pixie said. “We’re sick of doing rubber boot cleaning duty, so this year we’re going to make sure you get all the detentions instead.”
Angus frowned at the twins. “How are you going to manage that?”
“We’re not telling you, Munchfungus. But me and Pix have got big plans.”
“Yeah.” Pixie nodded earnestly. “We know things, big important things.”
“Good,” Dougal said folding his arms across his chest. “It’s about time somebody taught you two how to spell your own names properly. Now stop bugging us and go away.”
“You’re really starting to irritate me, Dewsnap.” Percival lunged forward, pushing Dougal hard.
“Hey!” Dougal staggered backward and collided with Angus.
“Stop it, you idiot! You’re making the storm jar wobble!” Angus warned. But Percival ignored him, taking a reckless dive at him instead.
Angus ducked out of the way at the last minute. Percival skidded, but it was too late!
Smash!
The tall storm jar toppled over and shattered into a thousand pieces. Big scarlet flakes of snow spilled out over the wreckage and quickly began to disperse throughout the storm hollow.
“Argh!” Percival turned and ran, trampling over anyone who got in his way. “Scarlet sleeping snow! Scarlet sleeping snow!”
Pixie, looking thoroughly alarmed, followed in his wake.
Angus scrambled, frantically brushing flakes of snow off his arms, face, and hands where they had already started to settle, giving his skin an odd feeling of numbness. Indigo stumbled clumsily over the broken glass and collided with Jonathon Hake. Dougal stood petrified as the snow swirled inches from the tip of his nose.
“Everyone, out of this storm hollow now, unless you want to spend the rest of the afternoon unconscious!” Gudgeon came striding toward them. He grabbed Dougal by the coat and propelled him away from the shattered storm jar. Angus followed, quickly j
oining the stampede of lightning cubs now hurtling toward the steel door at the far side of the hollow.
“Jonathon Hake’s been hit!” Violet Quinn wailed as soon as everyone was safely on the other side of the door.
“Did anyone see him fall?” Nigel Ridgely asked.
Dougal nodded, still trying to catch his breath. “He went down like a sack of potatoes.”
“It’s all my fault!” Indigo whispered, looking thoroughly wretched. “I bumped into him by accident, and he must have lost his balance.”
“But he’ll be all right, won’t he?” Georgina Fox put a comforting arm around Violet, who looked very tearful and shaken. “I mean, he’s not, he’s not—”
“Calm down, everyone!” Gudgeon barged through the door a moment later, making them all jump. He was carrying a limp Jonathon Hake in his arms. “There wasn’t enough snow in that jar to kill anyone.”
“But, sir, will Jonathon be all right?” Nigel Ridgely asked as Gudgeon set the sleeping lightning cub down carefully on the floor.
“Doctor Fleagal will need to treat him. Then he’ll have to sleep it off for a few hours up in the sanatorium, but he’s in no immediate danger, unlike you two!” Gudgeon swung around, pointing angrily at the Vellum twins. “Deliberately smashing a storm jar full of highly dangerous weather is enough to get you two idiots expelled if I’ve got anything to do with it. Stand there until I decide what to do with you.”
The Vellum twins glared at Angus, shuffling their feet.
“The rest of you had better head straight up to the supplies department and get your coats washed down and thoroughly decontaminated.” Gudgeon continued. “And not a word to anyone about what you’ve just seen, understand? You’ve signed a declaration. You know the consequences.”
One by one the remaining lightning cubs began to trudge their way back up the spiral stairs, leaving a trail of melting snow behind them. Angus followed, feeling he’d had quite enough of the storm hollow for one day. His feet were squelching inside his socks. The bare skin on his hands and face now felt prickly and peculiar. He turned to see if Indigo and Dougal were experiencing the same unsettling symptoms and stopped mid-stride.