Free The Lightning Catcher by Anne Cameron Page B

in their boots?
    â€œI really hope not!” Dougal blanched when Angus plucked up the courage to voice his concerns a few moments later. “Nobody actually catches lightning bolts at Perilous anymore. It’s forbidden.”
    â€œBut . . . what about the Lightnarium? Don’t they experiment with lightning in there?”
    â€œYeah, but that’s different, it’s all controlled and deliberate in the Lightnarium.” Dougal stumbled in the fog. “It’s not like catching lightning bolts from a real live thunderstorm like they used to back in the olden days.”
    â€œThen why did they make us sign a declaration saying we wouldn’t attempt to catch any on our own?” Angus asked, not sure if he felt slightly disappointed or highly relieved by this unexpected news.
    â€œWho knows?” Dougal shrugged. “All I know for sure is that there was some sort of horrible accident years and years ago, down in the lightning vaults, and since then, nobody at Perilous has been allowed to catch them.”
    â€œThe lightning vaults?” Angus asked.
    â€œYeah, when the Exploratorium was first built, Philip Starling and Edgar Perilous wanted to discover everything they could about lightning and how to control the stuff, you know, stop it from destroying any more towns and cities. They weren’t crazy enough to build any lightning towers here on Imbur, though, especially after what happened with the Great Fire, so they had the lightning vaults tunneled deep inside Perilous instead,” Dougal said, wiping his foggy spectacles with his sleeve. “They did loads of seriously dangerous experiments down there, blasting storms into a thousand pieces. They also had the biggest collection of fulgurites in the world.”
    Thanks to Uncle Max, Angus already knew that fulgurites were formed when a bolt of lightning struck sand, melting the grains together and leaving a perfect cast of a lightning bolt behind.
    â€œThere was also supposed to be something really dangerous in the vaults,” Dougal added with a gulp. “Something huge and horrible that nobody could control.”
    â€œLike what?” Angus asked, shivering.
    â€œHaven’t got a clue,” Dougal said. “But I do know there was a terrible accident one night, somebody died, and the vaults were sealed up forever. Actually, we’re not supposed to know the vaults even exist. I only know about them because I overheard my dad talking to Principal Dark-Angel once, ages ago. Dad’s the only historian on the island these days,” he explained, lowering his voice to a whisper. “He’s written loads of books about the terrible turnip blight of 1899 and stuff like that. Anyway, he was asked to write a modern history of Perilous, and Principal Dark-Angel came to the house one night to give him some background information, and she just started talking about the vaults. I was sitting on the stairs, and I accidentally overheard her talking. I don’t suppose I—”
    â€œGRRRRRRR!”
    â€œWhat was that?” Angus stopped dead in his tracks, feeling all the hairs on the back of his neck stand up on end.
    â€œI dunno.” Dougal gulped beside him. “But whatever it was, it didn’t sound very . . . vegetarian, did it?”
    A moment later, Catcher Mint had gathered them all together into a tight group, a worried expression on his face.
    â€œSorry about the growling, everyone,” he said, hastily doing a head count. “I was under the impression that the fog yeti had been shipped back to its natural habitat, in the freezing marshes, but well . . . perhaps we’d better just get to the other end of the tunnel before I say any more.” He glanced over his shoulder warily. “It’s probably best if you don’t go wandering off by yourselves under the circumstances . . . just in case it hasn’t had breakfast