The Lightning Catcher: The Secrets of the Storm Vortex (8 page)

  
5
  
NIGHT OWLS WITH BEASTLY WIZ

A
ngus was woken the following morning by the sound of a clanging bell.

“Whashappning?” He sat bolt upright in bed, wondering if Perilous was on fire. A few seconds later, however, the noise stopped abruptly.

Angus yawned and stumbled out of bed, remembering that this was the first day of a brand-new term. He found some clean socks and pulled on his gray uniform, still feeling extremely sleepy. Then he grabbed his yellow weatherproof coat, just in case he was about to be thrust into a rain-filled weather tunnel, and stuck his head out into the curved hallway.

The door to the girls' half of the lightning cubs' living quarters was already open. Georgina Fox, Violet Quinn, and Millicent Nichols were giggling over the pages of a magazine. Juliana Jessop, a bossy older lightning cub, was talking loudly with a group of friends. Theodore Twill was encouraging his pet lightning moth to circle over the heads of some worried-looking third years. There also seemed to be a small number of other lightning cubs whom Angus didn't recognize, huddled together in a tight knot. Their weatherproof coats were far too long for their short legs.

“First years,” Nicholas Grubb said loudly, nodding toward the frightened group, his sandy hair falling over his eyes. “Catcher Mint's about to take them through the weather tunnel to see if any of them come out the other end alive. Personally, I don't fancy their chances if they come up against a fognado.”

Several of the first years squealed, looking utterly petrified. But Angus was staring at Nicholas Grubb with a dull thought now throbbing at the back of his brain.

“Hang on a minute. If they're first years, that must mean me, Dougal, and Indigo—”

“—are all second years now. Congratulations!” Nicholas thumped him hard on the shoulder. “It's all downhill from here, until you reach your fifth year, of course, and then you get special study lessons where you can lark about with your mates in the seniors' sitting room. I can't wait! See you later.” And he wandered off to talk to Kelvin Strumble and Joshua Follifoot, two of his best friends.

Angus had spent the previous evening with Dougal and Indigo in the Pigsty, a tiny private sitting room squashed between his room and Dougal's, discussing the weather vortex. The fact that they had now made it through a whole year at Perilous and were about to embark upon their second had never entered the conversation.

He made his way through the growing crowd in the hallway to share this startling piece of information with Dougal, who was balancing on one knee, tying his bootlaces.

“Why didn't you tell me we're in the second year now?” he asked as soon as Dougal stood up again.

“I thought you knew. Didn't Catcher Sparks send you a letter?”

“No.” Angus frowned. “What did it say?”

Dougal shrugged. “Nothing important. It just kept droning on about setting a good example for the first years, and we had to sign a good-behavior pledge and send it back.”

Indigo joined them a few seconds later, scratching at a rash on her hand, but before Angus could ask her if she'd also had a letter, Catcher Sparks appeared in the hallway. Her long black hair was pulled back into a tight bun. She was dressed in a brown leather jerkin, fastened up the front with ten buckles. It looked strong enough to stop a vicious icicle storm in its tracks.

“I wonder what she wants,” Angus mumbled quietly.

As their master lightning catcher Catcher Sparks regularly sent them to complete some of the most revolting tasks at Perilous.

“Silence!”
she bellowed, and a swift hush fell in the curved hallway. “I am here this morning to assign each of you to your new departments and lessons. May I remind everyone that this latest stage in your training should be treated with the utmost seriousness.” She glared at Nicholas Grubb, Clifford Fugg, and Theodore Twill, the three lightning cubs who were most likely to start a spur-of-the-moment food fight or throw water bombs at
one another in the bathrooms. “When I have called your name, you may proceed up to the kitchens for breakfast. Grubb, Strumble, Follifoot, Cambrun,” she said, consulting a long list. “You will be attending weather observations lessons in one of the weather bubbles with Catcher Greasley first thing this morning.”

“But, miss, I can't!” Nicholas wailed loudly, causing several younger lightning cubs to snicker.

“What on earth are you talking about, Grubb?” Catcher Sparks sounded irritated.

“Catcher Greasley banned me from the weather bubbles after I accidentally filled one with soapsuds, miss.”

“Stop telling ridiculous stories, Grubb.” Catcher Sparks rolled her eyes at him. “And you might try filling your brains with some useful knowledge this term, instead of larking about and playing the fool.”

Nicholas grinned at Angus as he hurried past Catcher Sparks and up the spiral stairs with the rest of his friends.

“Jessop, Croxley, Pope, you have now been assigned to Catcher Vellum in the Lightnarium for advanced lightning identification lessons.” Catcher Sparks continued. “You will need to collect lightning deflector suits and
tinted safety goggles from the supplies department first. MacDonald, Whitte, Silverdale, Shirra, please report to Catcher Grimble in the research department.”

Angus let his attention wander around the hallway as Catcher Sparks made slow progress down her list. He smiled at Georgina Fox and Millicent Nichols, who were standing next to the lightning catcher. Directly behind them, skulking in a dark corner and looking uglier than ever were Pixie and Percival Vellum. The vile hairy twins bore a strong resemblance to a pair of gorillas.

Angus caught Percival's eye. The twin scowled, mouthing silently at him, “You're dead, Munchfungus!”

At the end of the previous term, Percival had threatened to spread false rumors that Angus's mum and dad had been kicked out of Perilous for causing a deadly accident on a fog field trip. In return, Angus had warned that he'd tell everyone that the twins' dad had been big friends with Adrik Swarfe, Dankhart's chief monsoon mongrel.

It was obvious that Percival's loathing for him had only deepened over the holidays.

“What's his problem?” Dougal whispered as Catcher
Sparks continued reading out names and Percival continued glaring in their direction.

“You mean apart from being an irritating idiot?”

“McFangus!”

Angus spun around and felt his stomach sink like a stone. Everyone in the corridor, including Catcher Sparks, was now staring in his direction.

“Er, yes, miss?”

“If you had been listening properly, you would now know that you, Dewsnap, and Midnight have been assigned to Catcher Wrascal in the forecasting department,” she informed him with nostrils flaring dangerously. “I suggest you pay more attention in the future or you'll find yourself heading straight up to Doctor Fleagal for an earwax scraping. Do I make myself clear?”

Angus nodded swiftly. “Yes, miss.”

The Vellums sniggered as he darted up the spiral stairs, his face shining with embarrassment.

After a hurried breakfast in the noisy kitchens Angus, Indigo, and Dougal made their way straight up to the Octagon, an eight-sided marbled hall with doors leading directly to each of the main departments at Perilous.
They were met outside the forecasting department by an unfamiliar lightning catcher with short auburn hair and a round face.

“Hello! My name's Catcher Wrascal, but you can call me Winnie when there's no one else around,” she announced, bounding toward them with a friendly wink. “No need to be all stuffy and formal when it's just the four of us.”

Catcher Wrascal had a bright, cheery sort of voice. She was also the youngest lightning catcher Angus had ever seen. Her leather jerkin was far too long, reaching well below her skinny knees. It was also extremely shiny, with none of the usual rips, tears, and scorch marks. Angus suddenly understood. Catcher Wrascal had only just qualified.

“The forecasting department is one of the busiest at Perilous,” she said, leading them through the door and into a short corridor, her leather jerkin squeaking as she walked. “We issue daily, weekly, and monthly forecasts to the most senior lightning catchers at Perilous and a variety of other Exploratoriums around the world, which is why we operate twenty-four hours a day, in every time zone. We also work in close liaison with the London
office, which relies on us for weather warnings, blizzard alerts, and emergency weather flashes.”

Angus stared around as they entered a large square hall, which he had officially visited only once before with Edmund Croxley. There was a collection of submarine-type periscopes, each manned by a lightning catcher on a swiveling chair, used for observing weather fronts as they approached Perilous. There were long strips of dangling seaweed, a bank of mechanical pinecones, and live hedgehogs, all used for predicting rainfall. The large vats that were normally filled with cold rice pudding for the purpose of measuring humidity had been drained for cleaning.

“We use a wide range of weather information for producing each forecast, including air temperatures, wind direction, humidity levels,” Catcher Wrascal said, counting them off on her fingers as if trying to remember a shopping list. “We also consider different types of cloud, rainfall patterns, changes in air pressure, and the thermy-holine circle and its effects on the weather.”

“Er, the thermy-what-thingy, miss?” Angus asked.

“I can't remember what it's called exactly,” she told them
brightly, “but it's definitely got something to do with the oceans, the weather, and climate regulation, or so Catcher Killigrew claims anyway.”

“I think she's talking about thermohaline circulation,” Dougal whispered when Angus and Indigo still looked confused. “It all starts with the formation of sea ice in the North Atlantic; it involves some deep ocean currents that circulate the globe on a seventy-thousand-mile round trip that takes about a thousand years.”

“A thousand years?” Indigo said, impressed.

“That's exactly what Catcher Killigrew keeps telling me,” Catcher Wrascal said, smiling at them. “To be honest, forecasting isn't really my strong point. I failed the exam twice. I'd much rather work in the experimental division, but until a position comes up—”

“Where did you train, miss?” Angus asked. He was certain he'd never seen her among the older trainees at Perilous.

“Please, call me Winnie! And I trained at a tiny Exploratorium in Fort William, Scotland. Now, what else am I supposed to tell you?” she said, staring at them blankly. “Oh, yes, we also spend a great deal of our time
monitoring the local weather here on Imbur, which, as you know, can be extremely unpredictable.”

“Yeah, especially when your dear old uncle Scabby starts messing around with it,” Dougal whispered.

“Don't!” Indigo warned, scratching her hand again. It now looked rather red and angry.