by Anne Cameron
“That sounds exactly like the declaration we had to sign before entering the storm hollow,” Indigo pointed out, stunned.
“They also promised that these lethal experiments would never be repeated, and the fire dragon scales have remained undisturbed in the Perilous crypt ever since.”
“Yeah,” Angus said, staring at Dougal and Indigo, “until now.”
15
THE WEATHER EYE
Angus, Indigo, and Dougal made a mad dash back through the Inner Sanctum before Dark-Angel could return and catch them red-handed. Angus dropped the stolen keys on the floor as soon as they reached the familiar marbled Octagon, hoping that Catcher Coriolis would simply discover them lying there, hoping that Dark-Angel wouldn’t have them dusted for fingerprints. They hurried back to the Pigsty, and a night of urgent discussions followed.
“This is so typical,” Dougal said, collapsing into one of the armchairs by the fire. “We break into the Inner Sanctum to find out something about the weather vortex and end up discovering loads of secret stuff about fire dragon scales as well.”
“I can’t believe the early lightning catchers did such dangerous experiments,” Indigo said, sitting cross-legged on the floor beside his chair.
“Yeah, what did they think was going to happen if they added dragon scales to lightning storm particles?”
“But this doesn’t explain anything. We still don’t know what’s really going on under that weather vortex,” Angus said, suddenly realizing it was true. He’d been so convinced that discovering the truth about 1777 would answer all their questions. But if anything, Hartley Windspear’s revelations had only confused the issue more. According to the projectogram, the weather vortex had appeared over Perilous only after some highly dangerous experiments involving dragon scales and lightning storm particles. But as no fire dragon scales had yet been stolen from the Perilous crypt—
“It might explain one thing,” Dougal said, thinking it through slowly. “What if Dankhart knows about those experiments?”
Indigo pulled her sweater sleeve quickly down over her bleckles at the mention of her uncle’s name.
“What if he found out somehow and now he’s getting Crevice and Vellum to steal some dragon scales for him? I mean, if anyone’s interested in brewing up his own catastrophic weather, it’s Dankhart and his stinking monsoon mongrels.”
Angus quickly considered the terrifying possibility that Dougal might be right. If Dankhart carried out his own lethal experiments, if he re-created the calamitous events of 1777 . . .
“Do you think we should we tell someone?” Indigo said, staring at them both anxiously.
“Tell them what?” Dougal asked. “That we stole a bunch of keys from Catcher Coriolis and broke into the Inner Sanctum? Do you want to spend every weekend for the next five years chipping icicles off the snow dome in the Rotundra? Besides, Dark-Angel already knows Crevice is a weasel.”
“Yes, but she also thinks Crevice is trying to steal a bunion cure. We could be the only ones who know the truth about 1777. And if Vellum really is helping Crevice, if he’s hiding under that coat and breaking into the crypt to steal some dragon scales for my uncle Scabious—”
“But we still haven’t got any proof,” Angus pointed out. “And we can’t just go around accusing Vellum of being in cahoots with Creepy Crevice and Dankhart.”
They each stared into the glowing embers of the fire, thinking over the shocking revelations of the evening.
“None of this makes any sense,” Dougal said, massaging his temples with his fingers. “Why has Dankhart got a great big cloud of swirling weather hanging over his castle if he hasn’t even got his hands on any dragon scales yet? And even if Crevice and Vellum are in it together, how could they get any scales inside Castle Dankhart with that deadly vortex whirling around it?”
Discussion about weather explosions and dragon scales continued long into the night. By the time they went to bed Angus’s head ached more than it had on the memorable occasion when he’d been hit by a bombardment of slushy snowballs.
He woke early the following morning feeling even more exhausted. Indigo and Dougal were already sitting at their usual table when he yawned his way up to breakfast a short time later. He grabbed some toast and marmalade, half expecting Dark-Angel to intercept him at any second, demanding to know why he’d stolen keys to the Inner Sanctum and gone riffling through things that didn’t concern him. Miraculously, however, none of the lightning catchers eating an early breakfast paid him the slightest attention.
“We’ve already seen Dark-Angel and Catcher Coriolis,” Indigo told him as soon as he sat down. “And neither of them even glanced in our direction.”
Angus stared around the room, amazed that nobody else seemed to be aware of their adventures.
“So what do we do now?” Indigo asked. A slice of uneaten toast lay shredded on the plate in front of her. “Do we tell someone about the dragon scale experiments?”
They’d been over and over the same prickly issue dozens of times the night before in the Pigsty without coming up with any realistic answers. They had also discussed Valentine Vellum at length, since they were now convinced he was once again helping Dankhart and the monsoon mongrels with their plans to spread chaos and danger.
“If we could just talk to Gudgeon or Rogwood,” Angus suggested, “maybe we could persuade them to listen to the projectogram.”
“Well, we couldn’t have picked a worse day to try it,” Dougal said.
Angus frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Today is the final winners’ demonstration,” Dougal said as a stream of lightning cubs entered the kitchens, laughing and joking loudly. “The whole of Perilous is about to descend upon Little Frog’s Bottom. We’ll be lucky if we can even find Rogwood or Gudgeon. Whatever we’re planning to do, it will have to wait until the demonstration is over.”
Because it was also a Saturday morning, breakfast took far longer than usual. Jonathon Hake, Violet Quinn, and Georgina Fox joined them at their table, and a lively discussion about the final demonstration followed.
“We’ve already had shimmer sharks and fearsome fog, so it could be experimental rainstorms next,” Jonathon said between large spoonfuls of porridge.
Georgina leaned in across the table, keeping her voice low. “Geronimo Midnight swears he overheard the winners talking about risky lightning cub experiments.”
Indigo blushed furiously. Angus turned around in his chair. Germ was laughing and joking with his friends beside the serving tables. He’d been responsible for some of the most outrageous rumors about the winners so far, and Angus hoped there could be no truth in this one either.
After breakfast Angus, Indigo, and Dougal searched the library, the Octagon, and the chilly cloud gardens for any signs of Rogwood or Gudgeon, without success. They peered out across the island, hoping to catch a glimpse of preparations for the last demonstration in Little Frog’s Bottom, but a low cloud had descended over the town, and they could see nothing but a few tall chimneys and church spires. They retreated to the warm library instead and spent the rest of the morning trying to avoid Miss Vulpine. Angus made another attempt at cracking his scare-me-not puzzle to pass the time, while Indigo and Dougal flicked aimlessly through the latest copy of the Weathervane.
Finally, after a noisy lunch in the kitchens, where excitement levels had once again reached fever pitch, they dressed in coats, woolly hats, and scarves and piled out into the courtyard, onto a packed gravity railway carriage.
“All right, Angus!” Nicholas Grubb waved from the far side of the carriage as it plummeted toward the ground. Angus smiled weakly, clutching his stomach. At the bottom of the tall rock, Catcher Howler shuffled everyone into steam-powered coaches that were already waiting to transport them to Little Frog’s Bottom. Half an hour later they arrived in the central square. Angus smiled at Dougal and Indigo. Despite their shocking discoveries in the Inner Sanctum, it was good to be back. The low cloud had now cleared. Cradget
’s, Brabazon Botanicals, and the Yodeling Yeti café offered tantalizing displays of Imbur buns, colorful flowers, and Grow-Your-Own-Wart kits. The statue of Philip Starling and Edgar Perilous was already casting long shadows across the square as the wintry sun began to dip toward the horizon.
“You will proceed straight to the demonstration tent and stay there until it is time to leave. No wandering off!” Catcher Sparks glared at Clifford Fugg, who was attempting to veer off toward Cradget’s. “This is not a shopping expedition. Do I make myself clear, Fugg?”
Angus, Indigo, and Dougal followed a stream of chattering lightning cubs and catchers heading for a large white tent that had been erected at one end of the square. Inside, seats had been arranged in rows around a raised wooden stage in the middle.
“It’s like being inside a circus tent,” Dougal said, staring up at the peaked canvas roof above.
Indigo smiled. “Maybe Lettice and Leonard Galipot have formed a flying trapeze act.”
“Yeah, or they’re planning to juggle with storm globes,” Angus said.
The tent was now filling up rapidly. Pixie and Percival Vellum barged past, deliberately elbowing Angus in the ribs. Dougal glared at the twins.
“There’s no sign of Valentine Vellum,” Indigo said quietly, peering over the heads of the surrounding lightning cubs. “I can’t see Rogwood or Gudgeon either.”
Angus stared around the rest of the tent. He was just about to give up searching when—
“I don’t believe it!” He tugged on Dougal’s sleeve excitedly. “Look!” He pointed toward the familiar figure now making his way toward them.
“Uncle Jeremius!” Angus waved. Jeremius greeted him with a bone-crushing hug. He smiled broadly at Dougal and Indigo. “What are you doing here?” Angus asked, feeling immensely relieved that his uncle had returned from whatever mysterious dangers he’d been facing and that he was still in one piece
“I told you I’d return in a few months. It seems I’ve chosen an interesting day to do it,” he said, gazing around the tent. Several lightning catchers waved in their direction.
Jeremius definitely looked thinner, Angus decided, as his uncle turned briefly to speak to Catcher Mint. His chin was covered in a thick growth of straggly beard; his clothes had several new rips and tears.
“But where have you been?” Angus asked as soon as Catcher Mint had moved on. “What have you been doing all this time? Have you heard anything from my mum and dad?”
Jeremius placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Angus. There has been no word in or out of Castle Dankhart for several months now.”
Angus nodded. He’d already guessed as much, but it didn’t stop his spirits from sinking a notch.
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you what I’ve been doing either,” Jeremius continued. “But I hear you three have managed to stay out of trouble for once. No chasing after monsoon mongrels or iceberg hopping in the Rotundra.”
Dougal and Indigo exchanged guilty glances.
“Rogwood tells me your lessons have been going well in the Inner Sanctum, too.”
“Er,” Angus felt his face redden, wondering if Rogwood had also mentioned the fact that he’d sent some rancid rain chasing after Percival Vellum.
“I do have some news about the weather vortex that you three might be interested to hear,” Jeremius said. “According to the latest reports from the weather station, it’s continuing to thin out and weaken. The cloud should clear any day now, and we’ll know exactly what Dankhart and his monsoon mongrels have been doing.”
“We’ve got something to tell you as well,” Angus said, keeping his voice down. “We think it could be important.”
At that precise moment, however, Catcher Sparks clapped her hands above her head, calling for attention. Every head turned in her direction.
“The demonstrations will begin in five minutes. If you would all take your seats immediately, please!”
Noise levels increased dramatically as every lightning catcher and cub began to head toward the seats arranged around the stage.
“Listen, come and find me after the demonstration. We can talk properly then,” Jeremius called, already being jostled away from them by the tide. “I’m thinking of asking Principal Dark-Angel if she’ll let you three spend the rest of the weekend at Feaver Street with me and Mr. Dewsnap.”
“Seriously?” Angus shouted over the moving bodies that now stood between him and his uncle. But Jeremius had already been swallowed up by the crowd.
“This is brilliant,” Dougal said, grinning beside him. “I can pick up some spare socks and a few books. With any luck Mrs. Stobbs might bake one of her chicken and ham pies.”
“And I’ve never been to Feaver Street,” Indigo said, looking eager to visit.
“Plus we can tell Jeremius what we’ve just found out from Hartley Windspear,” Angus added, suddenly feeling a heavy weight lifting. His mood took a definite upswing.
Jeremius was far more likely than any other lightning catcher to take their worries seriously. And if they could talk to him properly, away from Perilous . . . It had also been months now since he’d seen any member of his own family. The prospect of a whole weekend at Feaver Street with Jeremius was very appealing.
They found three empty seats behind Violet Quinn, Millicent Nichols, and Georgina Fox. Angus was now looking forward to the demonstration far more than he had been when they’d arrived in the square. A few moments later Principal Dark-Angel appeared onstage to a polite round of applause, and an expectant silence fell.
“Good evening to you all.” She began with a weary-looking smile. Angus wondered if she’d been up late into the night dealing with the aftermath of the missing keys. “And so we come to the final demonstration. I have known the Galipots since their early days at Perilous and have admired their work in advanced weather observation for many years. It is my great pleasure, therefore, to introduce the winners of last year’s Lightning Catcher of the Year award, Lettice and Leonard Galipot.”
There was an enthusiastic round of applause as Principal Dark-Angel left the stage, shaking hands with the two lightning catchers as they passed her on the stairs. A strange contraption was wheeled in from the other side of the stage; it looked like a large unblinking eye sitting on top of a small, square box.
“As the great Edgar Perilous once said, ‘Without observation there can be no understanding.’” Leonard Galipot began as soon as the crowd had settled again. “Without observation, we would still be as baffled today by the mysteries of a thundercloud or the power of a tornado as were the early lightning catchers who founded our great Exploratorium here on Imbur.”
“He’s not going to give us a boring lecture on weather observation, is he?” Dougal whispered.
“Weather observation is still the cornerstone of all work done by every lightning catcher across the globe.” Catcher Galipot continued before Angus could answer. “In this modern age, however, we have many instruments and devices to help with such vital work.” He pointed to the large eye next to him. “The Galipot portable weather eye is small enough to be taken on virtually any field trip or expedition.”
“The weather eye extends all the way up to the cloud base, to storm level,” Lettice Galipot said, continuing where her husband left off. “It can rotate through three-hundred and sixty degrees for full panoramic vision. For the purposes of this demonstration, we will project any image seen through the weather eye onto a foldout screen.”
The screen was as large as any in a movie theater. Angus shifted in his seat so he could see over the top of Georgina’s head more clearly. He was keen to see exactly what the weather eye could do, although he couldn’t fight off a slight feeling of disappointment that this demonstration, with its lack of shimmer sharks and fearsome fog, would be nowhere near as dangerous or exciting as the others.
“The weather eye is the perfect instant, mobile weather assessment device for lightning catchers faced with an unexpected storm or emerging weather catastrophe
.” Lettice Galipot continued. There was murmur of excitement from the audience.
“Now, to demonstrate.” She fiddled with a button on the side of the box. A hidden mechanism inside it coughed and spluttered into life. It rumbled and shook for several moments, as if preparing for takeoff.
Whoosh!
The weather eye shot up suddenly through a flap in the tent ceiling, on the end of a tall bendy snakelike pole, and disappeared from sight, leaving several members of the audience gasping with shock.
“As you can see, the Galipot weather eye can be deployed anywhere, night or day. It has already been tested extensively in different weather regions across the globe and through all four seasons here on Imbur Island.”
A blurry image suddenly appeared on the screen. Leonard Galipot fiddled with a dial, and the picture sharpened. The weather eye had ascended straight through the top of the cloud sitting directly over Little Frog’s Bottom, startling a flock of seagulls. Whiffs and puffs of gray haze floated past as the weather eye waited for its next instruction.
“And now, if I rotate the weather eye to the east . . .”
Leonard Galipot bent down, attached a crank handle to the side of the box, and began to wind it in a clockwise direction. The image on the screen blurred again as the weather eye turned slowly toward the sea. Waves sparkled in the distance. A large bank of fog was approaching the island. Before Angus could tell what kind it was, the weather eye was on the move again, this time facing back toward Perilous, and the familiar building came into focus. It was an impressive sight.
“Each weather eye comes with an optical zoom that allows you to concentrate on any trouble spots.”
The lens whizzed in rapidly, revealing a very close-up view of the Exploratorium. Angus squinted at the screen. They were now looking straight through one of the windows in the library, where someone sat hunched over a study table.