The Lightning Catcher: The Secrets of the Storm Vortex

by Anne Cameron

“There’s a whole section on the Dankhart family in the library,” Dougal confirmed when Angus told him later that same day in the Pigsty. Indigo had gone to bed early, so each of them had bagged one of the comfy armchairs by the fire. “Anyone can borrow the books.”

  “But why is Indigo so keen to read up about the Dankharts all of a sudden?” Angus said. “You don’t think it’s got something to do with that ad she dropped from the Weathervane, do you?” He removed the page from his pocket and unfolded it for another look.

  “Fawcett Family Tree Hunters?” Dougal frowned. “I dunno. But she must be taking this family tree stuff really seriously.”

  The day of the second demonstration brought a fresh crop of false beards, with Juliana Jessop wearing a particularly fine example that fell well below her sweater. Sounds of last-minute preparations filled the entrance hall. But it wasn’t until late that afternoon that—dressed in hats, scarves, and coats—they were finally allowed down to the chilly cloud gardens, where the demonstration was to take place. Set hundreds of feet below the main Exploratorium, the gardens were cut deep into the rock with tall grass, ferns, and long trails of ivy tumbling over a wide lip like another fine beard.

  “Wow!” Angus gasped as they reached the bottom of the stone steps.

  The cloud gardens had been specially decorated for the occasion with hundreds of glowing lamps and candles, which had attracted a large number of twilight bugs and early winter moths. Rows of chairs had been placed around a podium in the center. The views across the island were spectacular as the sun slowly began to set.

  “McFangus, Dewsnap, Midnight! Hurry up and sit down,” Catcher Sparks said. She pointed toward three empty seats in the row behind Germ and a group of his friends, who were all sporting long, curly beards. “And, Midnight, for goodness’ sake, tell your brother to remove that ridiculous facial hair he’s wearing before I remove it for him.”

  Indigo’s face shone with embarrassment as she shuffled into a seat behind Germ and whispered furiously in his ear.

  Angus walked quickly past Pixie and Percival Vellum, who had somehow managed to snag seats in the front row next to their dad.

  “What are you looking at, freak?” Percival mumbled, glaring at him.

  “Charming,” Dougal whispered. “The whole Vellum family’s about as friendly as a box of scorpions.”

  A few minutes later, after a short introduction by Principal Dark-Angel, Catcher Hornbuckle took to the podium with a thunderous round of applause. Several twilight bugs buzzed around his head.

  “In 1739,” he began nervously, “a lightning catcher named Neville Loxley took a wrong turning on the far side of Little Frog’s Bottom and changed the history of fog forever. Loxley inadvertently found himself stumbling about the Imbur marshes, where he discovered some of the most rare and fascinating fogs known to man, including howling fog, spooky fog, and the ever-elusive invisible fog.”

  “He forgot to mention poisonous and contagious fogs,” Dougal whispered, shivering.

  “Such was the importance of his discovery that we still celebrate his work on Neville Loxley Day.”

  Every face in the crowd was turned toward Catcher Hornbuckle expectantly. Miss DeWinkle, the Perilous fog expert, was scribbling notes at a frenzied pace, her cheeks pink with excitement.

  “Following in the footsteps of the great Neville Loxley, I spent four weeks on the Imbur marshes last year and discovered three entirely new types of fog, the first in over a hundred years.”

  A gasp swept around the audience, followed by a swift outbreak of mumbling and pointing.

  “Didn’t Neville Loxley go around the twist after three days out in the fog?” Dougal whispered.

  “Yeah, and Catcher Hornbuckle spent a whole four whole weeks surrounded by the stuff,” Angus said as a muscle in the lightning catcher’s face twitched. On closer inspection, he had a slightly jittery look about him.

  “I have since had my discoveries classified and verified by a panel of experienced fog experts, and I can now present my findings,” Catcher Hornbuckle said proudly. “First, I would like to introduce stinging fog. Stinging fog lurks around gorse bushes and thorn trees and leaves a slight tingling sensation on the skin, caused by the dense number of fog particles it contains. I will now release a small sample to demonstrate, as twilight is the best time of day to observe fog in its natural state.”

  Catcher Hornbuckle opened a storm jar and shook the contents into the darkening skies around the podium. A strange fog drifted slowly over the audience, muffling some surprised squeals from the front row. Angus gripped his chair, waiting for the fog to reach him.

  “Ow!” The fog nipped and stung his face, hands, and ears like a swarm of tiny insects. Beside him Dougal was attempting to waft it away with his hands. Indigo sat completely still, letting the fog drift past her.

  “Well, that’s really going to help mankind, that is!” Dougal said as the fog cleared a few moments later, leaving everyone covered in tiny red spots. “Why didn’t he just leave it out on the marsh? It wasn’t bothering anyone out there.”

  Angus grinned, wondering if his mum and dad would have to update their fog guide, if they ever escaped from Castle Dankhart. He braced himself for sample number two, which Catcher Hornbuckle was already getting ready to release.

  “Lightning fog,” he said, “appears to form after a thunderstorm, absorbing some of the electrically charged particles from the air around it. It is capable of delivering small lightning bolts of its own.”

  “What’s the maniac doing?” Dougal said as the electrically charged fog rolled across the first few rows of audience. It fizzed and sparked, shooting miniature bolts of lightning in all directions like an out-of-control firecracker. Millicent Nichols squealed. Percival Vellum shot out of his seat and tried to hide behind his dad.

  “Look out!” Indigo pushed Dougal’s head down toward his knees as the fog finally reached them and began striking lightning cubs at random.

  “I’ve been hit!” Dougal shrieked. “Oh,” he added immediately, sounding surprised, “it didn’t really hurt at all. Look.” He showed Angus and Indigo the small burn in his sleeve where the lightning had struck. There was no other damage, however, and as the fog passed over the audience and dissipated into the evening air around them, a chatter of nervous excitement filled the gap it left behind.

  “Lightning fog’s cool,” Angus said.

  “That Hornbuckle guy could make a fortune if he just bottled it and sold it,” Dougal said, having a rapid change of heart now that any danger had passed.

  Indigo shook her head at them both and smiled.

  Angus turned to face the podium again, eager to experience the last of the new fogs. Catcher Hornbuckle was now looking distinctly nervous.

  “The last of my discoveries came on the final night, when I was packing up my campsite. I must warn you that fearsome fog lives up to its name,” he said, wiping his sweaty-looking face with a handkerchief. “Once released, it takes on the shape of monstrous creatures, feared phantoms, ghosts, and ghouls.”

  Dougal trembled beside Angus. Indigo, however, was leaning forward in her seat, looking more than ready to be frightened.

  The fearsome fog rolled slowly toward them at first, rising like a column of smoke in the cool wintry air, and then—

  “Argh!” Several screams came from the front row as the fearsome fog reared up, taking on the shape of an enormous bear, jagged teeth and claws ready to rip, shred, and maul.

  “Stay in your seats!” Gudgeon yelled, trying to calm several hysterical first years. “There is no danger!”

  The fog, however, was doing its best to prove Gudgeon wrong. The bear shape disappeared as the fog quickly rolled itself into the form of a giant phantom. Several lightning catchers leaped out of their seats and ran for cover. Dougal fainted and slithered down his seat onto the floor. A second later the fog surrounded Angus and Indigo, contorting itself into the monstrous spectral form of a ghost with blank, staring eyes and a wide, wa
iling maw. Angus held his breath, every muscle in his body clenched tight, until the fearsome fog finally dispersed on the evening breeze and suddenly the demonstration was over.

  Catcher Hornbuckle took a bow to an uncertain round of applause.

  “That was totally bonkers,” Dougal said when Angus and Indigo had revived him and rescued him from under his seat.

  “It was even better than the shimmer sharks,” Indigo added, beaming.

  Miss DeWinkle was on her feet, trying to start a standing ovation, high spots of color in her cheeks. Principal Dark-Angel was already shaking hands with Catcher Hornbuckle when it happened.

  BOOOOM!

  The ground shook beneath their seats; the air seemed to quiver around them. Several people in the audience ducked, expecting more fog.

  “I thought the demonstration was over,” Indigo said as the sound of applause was swiftly replaced by an anxious buzz.

  Angus stared around, wondering if the fearsome fog had returned. Beyond the cloud garden, beyond Little Frog’s Bottom in the far distance, he finally saw it. Rising above Mount Maccrindell was a dark, menacing cloud.

  “This has got nothing to do with Catcher Hornbuckle,” he told Dougal and Indigo urgently. “Look!”

  Dougal’s face blanched. “There’s been another explosion at Castle Dankhart!”

  The cloud was moving rapidly on the wind, rising and stretching out across the evening sky with long rolls of threatening storm and flashes of ferocious lightning.

  “Everyone, inside! Now!” Gudgeon bellowed, hurrying lightning cubs toward the stairs. He grabbed Angus by the sleeve of his coat. “Stop gawping, you three, and shift it!”

  “But—”

  “No buts, McFangus! That cloud’s going to hit Perilous like a tidal wave of weather. Anyone caught outside will get washed away by the deadly seven!”

  Angus glanced back over his shoulder. The cloud had grown darker still, whirling toward Little Frog’s Bottom and Perilous at a furious pace. He stumbled awkwardly up the steps after Dougal and Indigo as the first few flakes of black snow began to fall.

  12

  WINNIE WRASCAL STRIKES AGAIN

  For the next few days, nobody was allowed outside as the debris cloud engulfed the entire Exploratorium in a howling storm of confused weather. Stubborn showers of hailstones, filled with black snow and crow’s feathers, clung to the windows, making it almost impossible to see anything beyond the thick gray murk. The ornate glass-and-steel weather bubbles were quickly declared out of bounds after several panes of glass shattered under the impact of falling periwinkles. Lingering wisps of fearsome fog, given new life by the storm, now pressed themselves into frightening wolflike shapes against the kitchen windows, causing two timid first years to lock themselves in the bathroom.

  There was no news, however, about the cause of the latest weather explosion at Castle Dankhart. Angus caught only the briefest glimpse of Principal Dark-Angel, Gudgeon, Rogwood, and Catcher Sparks as they darted about the Exploratorium, looking worried, exhausted, and far too busy to answer questions. Of which Angus suddenly had dozens, like: What had happened to his parents? Was this explosion real? Was Castle Dankhart now lying in ruins under the dense cloud, blown apart by the force of the latest catastrophe?

  The cloud over Perilous finally cleared a few days later. Large buckets of flotsam and jetsam were collected once again from the courtyard outside the main entrance to be sifted through for important clues. Angus was almost relieved when all second year lightning cubs were called down to the storm hollow for their next lesson with Gudgeon. He was determined to ask the gruff lightning catcher about the latest news on the weather vortex before the lesson ended.

  Gudgeon stood waiting for them at the far side of the storm hollow, next to another large jar covered with a tarpaulin. He nodded as Angus, Indigo, Dougal, and the rest of the class gathered before him.

  “You’ve all seen the weather hanging over this Exploratorium.” Gudgeon began abruptly as silence fell. “You’ve heard the explosion, and you know that there’s trouble hidden in that drizzle. Latest samples taken from the roof show that it contained large quantities of the weather I’m about to show you, so you need to know how to tackle it.” He uncovered the storm jar standing beside him, revealing the foglike contents.

  “Oh no! Not more fog!” Dougal whispered. “We’ve already had enough of that stuff with Catcher Hornbuckle.”

  “This isn’t fog, Dewsnap; it’s murderous mist,” Gudgeon explained, causing Dougal’s ears to turn pink with embarrassment. “Murderous mist encircles the body and tightens like a boa constrictor, squeezing the life out of anyone caught in its coils. It causes numbness and weakness in the limbs, and if it gets a strong enough hold, it will crush muscles, bones, and vital organs before you can squirm free. It can incapacitate even the most experienced lightning catchers unless you know how to handle it. That’s what you’re doing here today.”

  Angus gulped, staring at the mist as it swirled around the jar. Dougal had now turned whiter than a wet-dog fog. Even Indigo didn’t seem quite as eager to tackle the sinister substance as she usually was. Percival Vellum was scowling at Angus from the back of the group.

  “Even as fully qualified lightning catchers you will struggle to tell the difference between this stuff and a tropical fog at a first glance, so it’s important that you know what to do if you ever run into any on the Imbur marshes.”

  “I don’t know which is worse,” Dougal mumbled under his breath, “having your vital organs crushed by some murderous mist or being nibbled to death by a load of piranha mist fish hidden inside a tropical fog.”

  Angus glanced at his weather watch, but all it could tell him about the murderous mist was that it should be avoided at all costs.

  “Right, I’ll give you lot a quick demonstration first.” Gudgeon uncorked the storm jar, allowing a small portion of the murderous mist to escape.

  Angus watched as the mist uncurled itself like an animal sniffing the air for its prey. Then it slowly began to drift toward Gudgeon, who allowed it to wrap itself around his torso in long, vaporous fingers.

  “The longer you let the mist squeeze, the tougher it is to escape from,” Gudgeon explained as the coils began to tighten. “It’s no use struggling and thrashing about like a lunatic either. The mist will only grip harder. You can’t slash your way out of it, as the mist re-forms too quickly for escape.”

  Angus could feel his heartbeat quicken as the curls of mist pulled in tight around Gudgeon’s rib cage, constricting his breathing.

  “The only way to break the mist’s grip, once it’s got a hold, is to perform a Maudling maneuver,” Gudgeon said with some difficulty. “It was named after Montague Maudling, who accidentally discovered it after being trapped by the mist in a remote part of the Imbur marshes with no hope of rescue.” Gudgeon tried to take another breath, but the mist had tightened once again. “It’s tricky, but with a bit of practice, you should be able to do it well enough to save your own skin. Right, now watch me closely; I won’t be demonstrating this twice.”

  Gudgeon managed to grasp one end of the mist, which appeared to be more solid than the rest, and pulled, as if unraveling a thread. At the same moment, he twisted his shoulders rapidly to the left and right, forcing the coils apart. Then he slipped out backward, leaving an imprint of his own body hanging in midair.

  “The mist won’t be fooled for long, so don’t stand around gawking at it after you’ve performed the Maudling maneuver. You’ll need to make a run for it. I don’t mean now, Nichols!”

  Sounds of a scuffle broke out at the back of the group as Millicent Nichols attempted to sprint for the door. Georgina Fox grabbed her arm and dragged her back. Millicent gave a small sob and stared at the floor, looking mortified.

  “Right, now it’s your turn. Find an empty spot where you won’t crash into one another.”

  Angus swallowed hard as the lightning cubs dispersed across the storm hollow, each looking just as anxious as he
felt. Indigo turned to face the mist head-on, fists clenched tightly, as Gudgeon released the rest of it from the storm jar.

  “Don’t let the mist get a hold there!” Gudgeon warned as Violet Quinn disappeared behind the misty coils and he was forced to pull her free.

  Angus felt the mist wrap itself around his body, so lightly and delicately at first that it almost tickled. He waved his arms through the feathered wisps to try to disperse it, but just as Gudgeon had predicted, the swirls re-formed quickly, tightening their grip. A few seconds later his arms were pinned to his sides; the mist had him in a surprisingly strong hold. He managed to wiggle his fingers free, grabbed the thicker end, and pulled. Nothing happened. He tried again, grappling with the mist, which struggled against him like a wild animal. He shook his shoulders, forcing the coils apart and somehow squirmed his way to freedom, falling backward onto the floor of the storm hollow with a painful thump.

  “Nice try, McFangus, but watch out for the mist after you’ve escaped.” Gudgeon nodded toward the long fronds that were already reaching out, trying to recapture him.

  Angus scrambled to his feet and moved away swiftly. Some of the other cubs hadn’t fared so well. Georgina Fox had managed to escape the mist, but it had then chased her across the storm hollow, bound itself around her ankles, and brought her down with a crash. Nigel Ridgely had tried to punch his way through the mist, accidentally smashing Jonathon Hake in the nose at the same time. Indigo was far more skillful than everyone else at escaping the clutches of the murderous mist and performed the Maudling maneuver with ease. But Dougal was in big trouble.

  “Ha! Look at the great lump!” Percival sniggered as Dougal suddenly toppled over. He was covered from head to toe in long, misty spirals and struggled like a caterpillar wrapped in a deadly cocoon.

  “Hold your tongue, Vellum!” Gudgeon barked, marching over to free Dougal from the tightening fronds. “And the rest of you get back to your own mist.” Percival Vellum continued to snigger quietly. Angus glared at the twin until he finally turned away.