The Lightning Catcher (22 page)

“So you don't think that Dankhart has the map?” said Angus, his shovel suspended in midair.

“No, or like Indigo says, the whole Exploratorium would know about it,” Dougal reasoned. “And watch what you're doing with those dictionaries, will you?” he added, looking upset. “You're flicking soggy words about everywhere.”

“What? Oh, sorry.” Angus lowered his shovel carefully, still following his train of thought through to its logical end. “So where's the map now, then? I mean, Principal Dark-Angel definitely hasn't got it, or she wouldn't have asked me all those questions about what my mum and dad had sent me through the mail lately. And the only letter they've sent me in months is that boring one about my other aunt and uncle. So I definitely haven't got it either. . . .”

He glanced around the devastated library, with the faint hope that he might somehow see a secret-looking map poking out from behind one of the bookshelves, just waiting to be discovered. But he knew that his chances were depressingly slim.

 

Due to the damage caused by the storm globes, all fog field trips had been postponed until further notice. But as Angus and Indigo entered the kitchens one evening for dinner a few days later, they were met by the sound of excited chatter and the news that their own trip had now been scheduled in three days' time. This also meant that Angus could finally put his plan into action and search the marshes for any clues his parents might have left behind. He began to feel a nervous leap of excitement whenever he thought about it.

“Three days!” said Indigo, playing with the apple crumble in her bowl. “And we still don't know if we're going to run into any schools of piranha mist fish. If we'd just had a bit more time to find out . . .”

“Yeah, but how could we? Half the Exploratorium's been knee-deep in the mess from the hurricanes and typhoons for days, hasn't it,” reasoned Angus. “At least everyone else is in the same boat—”

“Not quite everyone, Dungbeetle,” came a familiar thuglike voice from above them.

Angus swung around to see the Vellum twins towering over them once again. They were both wearing the smuggest smiles he'd ever seen.

“Tell us what you're talking about, Vellum, or go away and bug somebody else,” Angus snapped.

“I'm talking, Dungbeetle, about the fact that some of us have already been practicing on the actual fog course itself,” said Percival. “Should be a piece of cake, now we've been around it a few times.”

“You've done what?” said Indigo, jumping angrily to her feet. “But nobody's allowed, not before the actual field trip.”

Percival shrugged. “You can do anything you feel like, Midnight, when your dad's a senior lightning catcher.”

“But that's cheating!”

“Call it what you want.” Percival grinned. “It won't change the fact that Pixie and me will have finished that course before you three have worked out where the starting line is.”

“Yeah? Well it won't change the fact that neither of you has the brains of a fog mite, either,” said Angus.

Percival clenched his fists and looked as if he was about to pick a fight. But the presence of several lightning catchers at a table close by seemed to bring him to his senses.

“Brains have got nothing to do with getting round this course, Dungbeetle,” he sneered. “It's all about courage, which means that you three should easily come in last. See you on the fog course, losers!” He and Pixie wandered off, snickering.

“Oh, that settles it!” Indigo slumped down into her chair, glaring after the twins. “I know Gudgeon said this isn't a competition, I know we're going to be busy looking for clues. But we've got to beat those two hairy morons, even if it's the last thing we ever do.”

Angus swallowed hard, sincerely hoping that it wouldn't be.

 

The day of the fog field trip dawned a dull and cloudy gray. Angus woke up much earlier than usual, feeling bleary-eyed. He got dressed quickly in his weatherproof coat and rubber boots, making sure he had the letter from his mum—which was still tucked safely inside his fog guide, like a talisman of hope. And he made his way up the spiral stairs, impatient to begin his search of the Imbur marshes.

The atmosphere in the Exploratorium was electric. Quite a number of lightning cubs, who were obviously feeling far too nervous to even attempt breakfast, were loitering anxiously about the corridors, chewing on their fingernails instead. Angus hurried past the kitchens with his own stomach churning and went straight up to the entrance hall, where they had all been instructed to gather by Miss DeWinkle.

It was clear that several groups of older trainees were also heading out to tackle their own sections of the fog course, and they stood talking in excited huddles.

“Good luck, Doomsbury!” Edmund Croxley waved as he passed. “And remember what your fog guide says . . . if in doubt—run!”

A number of lightning catchers, including Gudgeon, Catcher Sparks, and Principal Dark-Angel, had gathered to assist. It was the first time Angus had seen Principal Dark-Angel since the roof top ice rink. There were dark circles under her eyes, and it looked as if she hadn't had a decent night's sleep for a very long time.

“I think I'm going to be sick!” Dougal hissed as soon as Angus found him a few moments later. “I couldn't sleep last night, so I dug this out.” He held up an old book entitled
Most Foul and Deadly Mysteries of the Imbur Marshes
. “Just listen to what it says about fog phantoms.”

Angus frowned. “Fog phantoms?”

“Yeah, exactly.” Dougal gulped. “‘Known for their terrible boggy stench, fog phantoms lurk in the deepest marshy depths, waiting to pounce on the lost and unwary, some of whom have never been seen again.'” He snapped the book shut. “If fog is
this
dangerous, why are they sending us out into the middle of the stuff?”

“You're such a nerd, Dewsnap!” Percival Vellum snickered as he and Pixie pushed through the crowd. “Books won't save you now. You won't last five minutes out in those marshes.”

“Just shut it, Vellum!” Angus glared angrily after the disappearing twins.

Dougal, however, looked doubly nauseous and kept his mouth clamped shut until Indigo found them.

At eight o'clock precisely, Miss DeWinkle, who was dressed for the occasion in a bright orange coat and matching earmuffs, herded everyone into the gravity railway carriage, which carried them straight down to the island below.

Angus gripped his seat tightly as the carriage plummeted toward the ground at an alarming rate, making him feel as if all his internal organs had been squashed inside one of the pickling jars that he'd seen on Principal Dark-Angel's desk. Clouds, birds, and big chunks of sky flashed past in a nauseating blur. He kept his eyes averted from Gudgeon, who was assisting Miss DeWinkle, and concentrated hard on a flickering lamp instead. He was extremely relieved when they finally reached the bottom with a surprisingly gentle bump.

“I wonder how we're getting out to the marshes,” said Indigo as she, Angus, and Dougal staggered out onto solid ground again.

Her question was answered almost immediately by the arrival of several open-topped, steam-powered coaches, brass lamps and railings gleaming even in the damp weather. Due to the gloomy conditions, however, it was impossible to see anything of the countryside they were traveling through. And by the time they arrived at the start of their course on the marshes, they were already wet through. Boggy and desolate, the marshes were the least welcoming spot Angus had ever set foot in.

“I knew it! These are perfect conditions for fog phantoms.” Dougal trembled as Miss DeWinkle beckoned them over to a row of green flags poking up through the marshy grass.

“Gather round, everyone!” she called. “And welcome to your first-ever fog field trip! I'm sure it will prove to be a memorable and enjoyable day!”

Angus and Dougal exchanged doubtful glances. Miss DeWinkle waited for all fidgeting to stop before she continued.

“There are just a few basic rules before we begin. Anyone caught deliberately taking a shortcut through the fog, or confusing their fellow lightning cubs with false directions, will be dealt with swiftly by Principal Dark-Angel. Any pushing, tripping, shoving, or attempts to scare one another witless will be punished with two weeks on pencil-sharpening duty in the research department.”

Angus glanced over at the Vellum twins, who looked less than pleased, and he felt his confidence rise a notch.

“Remember that you are here to study and experience the perils of working in fog. This is not a race to the finish line. Running in such conditions is strictly forbidden,” Miss DeWinkle warned. “Each team must also take great care not to wander onto any other part of the course, particularly those marked in black, blue, and purple. Those sections have been designed for more experienced cubs and are far too difficult for you to attempt. You must also collect one of these tokens”—she dangled a small, perfectly formed Perilous charm on a string—“at the end of each section, to prove that you have completed it. Now, decide which member of your team will be taking charge of the map.”

Indigo, looking determined, clutched the map tightly.

“Fog guides and weather watches at the ready . . .”

Dougal, who still looked faintly sick, gripped the fog guide, which he'd now read at least a dozen times.

Angus glanced down at his weather watch, which was already glowing a luminous orange. A boggy swirl covered the entire surface. What else were they about to discover in the fog?

“Gudgeon will be starting teams off at two-minute intervals, so you don't all crash into each other. Good luck, everyone!”

The gruff lightning catcher emerged from behind them suddenly.

“Quinn, Fox, you're first,” he barked as the two nervous-looking trainees stepped up to the starting line.

Angus caught a brief glimpse of Violet Quinn's face, which had turned the color of dishwater. A second later, the whistle blew, and their first fog field trip was suddenly under way. Pixie and Percival Vellum were next, followed by Nigel Ridgely and Jonathon Hake. Each team instantly vanished into the fog, from which no sound escaped.

“Doomsbury, Dewsnap, Midnight. You're up next.”

Angus jumped at the sound of his fake name.

“This is it!” Dougal gulped as they followed Gudgeon to the starting line. “If I don't make it to the other end, it's been nice knowing you!”

Angus tried to smile back, but he could feel that his face was stuck in a horrible sort of grimace. Only his eyebrows moved. Indigo gave them both an anxious smile.

A second later, Gudgeon blew his whistle . . . and they were hurrying straight into a thick bank of fog. It hit Angus in the face like a cold, wet blanket and wrapped itself around his ears. He tried to remember exactly what Miss DeWinkle had taught them about taking small, measured steps.

Before he could check his weather watch, however, a low, earthy tunnel began to appear up ahead. It resembled the entrance to a giant rabbit burrow.

“There's a sign right next to it!” Indigo pointed to a luminous board, glowing at them through the fog. It read:

 

THE PASSAGE BEFORE YOU REPRESENTS ONE OF THE CELEBRATED FOG TUNNELS OF FINLAND, FILLED WITH NOTORIOUSLY TRICKY TUNNEL FOG. YOUR TEAM MUST NAVIGATE ITS WAY THROUGH TO THE OTHER SIDE TO EXPERIENCE THE CONDITIONS FIRSTHAND.

 

“‘Tunnel fog,'” Dougal said, reading directly from the McFangus guide. “‘An extra-thick fog that forms in damp underground spaces, concealing many hazards, such as rocks, tree roots, and uneven ground.'”

“Why's it extra thick?” asked Angus.

“Obvious, isn't it,” Dougal said. “It's being squeezed through a narrow tunnel, so it gets all concentrated. Plus it hasn't got the room to swirl about like normal fog does.”

Angus stared into the mouth of the tunnel. Up close, it was obvious it ran directly under the marsh. The fog inside was thicker than custard.

“I'll go first,” said Indigo, pushing her hair out of her face. “According to the map, the course heads north from here.” She rolled the map and stuffed it in her pocket. “So as long as we follow the compass on our weather watches . . .”

Indigo took a deep breath, clambered inside, and disappeared into the gloom without a backward glance. Angus followed quickly, before he could change his mind. Dougal brought up the rear, grumbling loudly.

On and on the tunnel went. Angus tripped and stumbled blindly, hitting his head more than once on the low ceiling, swallowing great gulps of the terrible-tasting fog.

He finally reached the other end of the tunnel and collapsed in a sweaty, breathless heap. Dougal scrambled out behind him.

“Is it my imagination,” said Indigo, collecting their first token from a box and pulling both her teammates upright again, “or is everything much creepier on this side of the tunnel?”

“You're not imagining anything. We've just walked straight into a spooky fog,” said Angus, checking his weather watch quickly.

Dougal shivered. “According to the McFangus guide, spooky fog is most commonly found lurking in graveyards, deserted castles, and old ruins.' It can also ‘induce feelings of fear and panic and the irrational belief that you are being followed.' You don't think we are being followed, do you?” He glanced warily over his shoulder.

The next illuminated sign instructed them to navigate their way through the ruins of an old house. Dark and forbidding, the gaping doorways dared them to enter. Angus led them silently into the heart of the ghostly ruins, desperately hoping they weren't about to come face-to-face with a colony of vampire bats. Spiderwebs floated through the air, and long stone columns poked up through the lumpy ground like gravestones, making all three of them feel extremely jumpy. Angus forced himself to peer through every doorway, to explore each nook and cranny searching for the tiniest hint that his parents might have visited this place before their kidnapping.