The Maloneys' Magical Weatherbox (20 page)

“What are we going to do?” I asked. My voice was muffled because my head was between my knees.

“I'm going to fight Mrs. Fitzgerald,” Dad said. “You're going to become the Weatherman.”

“I am?” I sat up. “Oh. Right. OK. Uh, Dad? I'm not ready to be the Weatherman. I'm really not.”

“I'm not ready to stop being the Weatherman, but we don't have a choice.”

“Sorry to interrupt,” said Ed. By now we'd torn through the city and out onto the motorway, rolling down the outside lane with horn blaring and lights flashing. “I think you two should have a look outside. There seem to be unusual weather phenomena all over the place.”

We looked out through the windscreen, then out the side windows and the back. The police van full of Shieldsmen was following on the road behind us. Weisz gave us an excited thumbs-up from the passenger seat.

Climbing into the sky from all points of the compass except the south were heavy masses of cloud, building fast and full of light—red, green, and purple—sweeping like an avalanche across the sky.

“That's them,” Dad said. “Faster, Ed. Faster.”

The needle on the speedometer jumped until it couldn't go any higher.

“Them?” I asked, scared now, of the speed and the clouds and the note in Dad's voice.

“The Seasons,” Dad explained. “All except Summer, who is here already and who, for the moment, I have inside me.”

“Wow,” Ed said, turning on the radio. “Best holiday ever!”

“‘Supercell thunderstorms are rare but not unknown,'” said a voice on the radio. “‘You see, what happens is you get these giant columns of cloud that sort of pull up hot humid air in a powerful rotating updraft. You can expect heavy downbursts of rain and hail accompanied by thunder and lightning and possibly even tornadoes. Alarming, but explicable. What's slightly terrifying is that three of them have formed spontaneously out of nowhere and are now crossing the country from the east, west, and north, respectively, all looking to converge somewhere over the Midlands.'”

“‘And in your considered scientific opinion, will that create a massive super-mega-terror storm that could lay waste to the entire country?'” asked someone else on the radio.

“‘That's the optimistic outlook, yes. We should probably evacuate.'”

“‘The Midlands?'”

“‘The country.'”

“‘And what if they are, in fact, alien mother ships disguised as clouds about to commence a devastating global invasion to enslave humanity?'”

Dad switched the radio off. “Listen carefully, both of you. We don't know what will be waiting for us when we get home, but Neil has to stay safe at all costs. Neil, whatever is there, whatever has happened, whatever you see, I want you to run for the lake as fast as you can. Take the Shieldsmen. They'll protect you.”

“The lake? Oh God. OK. What about you?”

“I'll be fine. I'll keep Mrs. Fitzgerald occupied, but Hugh and the elementals will be after you.”

“Hugh?”

“Run for the lake, you hear? Straight up through the woods to the lake.”

“Why?”

“And Ed, listen, when we get there you're to do exactly as I say, you hear? Don't question me, just do it.”

“Uh, OK,” said Ed. We'd left the motorway now, and the truck leaned to one side as we went through a roundabout.

“There's something else, Neil. I've been thinking about the Gray Thing—the new Season.”

“So you really think it is a fifth Season? Dad, how can that work? What's it the Season of? Where would it fit? What would we call it?”

“We don't have to call it anything yet. We just don't know yet what it's for or why they made it.”

“Doesn't making another Season violate the agreement?” Ed said.

“It depends,” Dad said. “Two things have occurred to me. One is that it may take centuries for the Baby Season to mature. The other is that we don't know whether Seasons die. We don't know whether in the past Seasons
have
died. And been replaced.”

“You…” I said, and shook my head to try and get my thoughts to work properly. “You think that one of the big Seasons is dying and the Baby Season is going to take its place? And you think it's happened before?”

“Seems like the sort of thing you'd notice,” Ed said.

“As far as I'm aware,” Dad said, “No scientist has yet made a study of the life cycle of a Season. Anyway, that's just a theory.”

“That's some theory, Dad,” I said.

“Here's what I think happened,” Dad said. “Mrs. Fitzgerald, the third hag, left the Black Pool and traveled south to the Midlands. She decided that the only way to be sure of not being sent back was to have another, even more important, job. She decided to become the Weatherman. First she tried to steal the gate, using John-Joe to swindle my father. Then, when the Weathermen's Club moved the Doorway, she set out to destroy the club, using Tony Holland. Tony wrecked the club's finances, bought it out, gained control of the phone line and, finally, this summer, cut the line off. And they did all this right under my flippin' nose! Make no mistake, I don't deserve to be Weatherman anymore.”

“Dad, it wasn't your fault,” I protested.

“It was, Neil, and that's all there is to it. I cut myself off from the club and let it be destroyed. That's on me. To protect the gate and the agreement—that's my job, Neil. I failed.”

“Oh, Dad.”

“It's OK. It's not over yet. Mrs. Fitzgerald must have sensed the presence of the Baby Season in the lake, but she waited—and when the time was right, she provoked it into creating all the anomalous weather until finally you went down and freed it. The young Weatherman freed the young Season. Then she captured it and now she's using it, even after Liz sunk it down into the bog—probably a bit like I'm using the Summer. It's young and vulnerable in a way the other Seasons aren't. And it allows her to control elementals, making her incredibly powerful and dangerous.

“With the Season late, I'm in disgrace. She knows the power I have, but she also knows I'm reluctant to use it. If I use it, I'm finished, which is what she wants, but I'm also every bit as dangerous and powerful as she is, so it's a risk. Once the Seasons were well and truly furious with me, her plan was to have the line reconnected. Her people are working on it right now, but I'd know if they'd finished. When the Autumn comes through, chances are I'll be deposed and she'll offer herself as a better candidate than you. She may use the Baby Season as a bargaining chip; I'm not sure. Now, though, I've used my power and the three Seasons are coming, and…” He trailed off.

“What?” I said. “What does that mean?”

“I don't know,” he said. “Neither does she.”

“But why do you want me to go to the lake, Dad? I don't understand!”

“How are we doing, Ed?” Dad asked.

“We'll be there in twenty minutes, give or take, so long as we don't hit anything.”

“Don't stop,” Dad said. “Don't slow down.”

“Don't hit anything,” I said.

Dad looked over at me. “It's you or her, Neil. So it has to be you.”

He turned in his seat, put one hand on each of my shoulders, and leaned in close. “I know what it's like, Neil. I know what it's like to have everything you thought was safe and secure suddenly fall apart, and for someone to come in and take it all away from you. I know what it's like to watch your dad lose it all and to have the whole weight of the world come down on your shoulders. You're gentle, Neil, and I don't mean that as a bad thing. It's a good thing. The best. It's not something the rest of the world always values, but I do.
We
do. You're a gentle young man, a real gentleman, and you've been through a lot, so you're strong as an ox, too, and you don't deserve to have all this fall on you. But I know you'll use your head and use your heart and get through it. I thought I was alone when my dad lost the farm, but it turned out I wasn't, and neither are you. We have our own little tribe, and when you're Weatherman you'll be the chief, so don't ever feel alone, or weak, or too scared to go on, OK? You're my son, and it's well pleased I am with you.”

I nodded dumbly, and he put an arm around my head and pulled me to his chest, which smelled of rich green growing things. I breathed in deep and closed my eyes.

We drove on, tearing down the narrow country roads, horn blasting, right into the heart of the gathering storm. I thought of those old ghost stories about the man and his son on a horse-drawn carriage who, having vowed to race the storm home, were cursed to ride ahead of it forever. We didn't have forever. We had minutes. It got darker. It got colder. The sky was full of angry light.

Dad told me what had happened while I was gone, and I told him what had happened to me. Then we were quiet for a while. The roads grew familiar. My throat clutched, my heart jumped, my stomach clenched. I wasn't ready for any of this.

“There,” Dad said. The old barn went past. Trees closed around. It was as if we were falling down a dark tunnel, as if we were one of Liz's arrows in flight. There was the house, the Weatherbox, people clustered around it.

“Now,” Dad said. Two white shapes flew from the roof of the Weatherbox.

Ed hit the beams. He sounded the horn. Faces turned in shock. Mum. Liz. Mrs. Fitzgerald. Three people I vaguely recognized rolled away from a hole in the ground. Hugh and John-Joe gaped from the ditch. Owen on the wall scooped up Neetch and jumped back onto the lawn. Mum, Liz, and Mrs. Fitzgerald scattered. I braced myself, and shut my eyes.

Under the rumble and the roar, as if echoing across hillsides and over treetops, I heard the far-off sound of a telephone ringing.

 

CHAPTER 22

LIZ

They were coming from the east, the west, and the north, blazing clouds blocking out the dead yellow sky. Huge and angry and ominous. The sky was filling up with Seasons, and we were running out of time.

Hugh, glowering, and John-Joe, grinning like an idiot, followed Mrs. Fitzgerald across the road like a pair of headless chickens. Hugh saw me up on the Weatherbox and gave me one of his sneeriest sneers. John-Joe pointed his shotgun at Mum. Neetch's back arched so high I thought his spine would snap. Mrs. Fitzgerald stood in front of Tony, sitting on the wall, one hand still covering his ear, looking up at her in holy terror.

“Now,” she said. “This has taken long enough.” She pointed at the Weatherbox. “Make it ring,” she told him.

“You're not welcome here,” Mum said, and went and stood right in front of her. I think that was the bravest thing I've ever seen anyone do.

“Scarce are the places that welcome me,” said Mrs. Fitzgerald. “Why would I expect any different here? I go where I go, and need no welcomes.”

“I suppose that means you've none for us, then, either, Holly, dear?” said Hazel from the wall. Mrs. Fitzgerald's head snapped up, her eyes widened in shock.

“Aren't you going to introduce us to our brother-in-law?” asked Ash.

“And our nephew? I'm sorry, but our invitations to the wedding must have been lost in the post!” added Hazel.

“And to the christening!” put in Ash.

“You!” said Mrs. Fitzgerald. Her eyes narrowed and her lips grew thin. Hugh and John-Joe looked at each other uneasily.

“Who are they, Mum?” asked Hugh.

I slipped the bow over my head and climbed down the side of the phone box.

“You do not belong here,” Mrs. Fitzgerald said. “This is none of your concern. Who stirs the pool? Who sings to the beast?”

“The beast will keep,” said Hazel.

“We're sick of songs, anyway,” said Ash.

“And of stirring,” finished Hazel.

“You're the one who doesn't belong!” I cried, running up and standing beside Mum. “You're the one who isn't welcome! Go away!”

Mrs. Fitzgerald tore her eyes away from her sisters and looked down at me. “Don't you want the line fixed?” she said. “Don't you want the year to have an Autumn? Barely a day late and already the cycle of Seasons is close to breaking. What chaos would be unleashed on the world if they no longer held to the old agreement? Can you not feel their approach? The air is thick with their presence. They have left their allotted quarters and come to pass judgment on the Weatherman. The Weatherman who failed to bring in the Autumn, who unleashed his forbidden powers and deserted his Doorway.”

“Even if you get the line working,” Mum said, her voice tight. “Even then, the Autumn can't come through without the Weatherman.”

“Oh, but the Autumn is coming.” She gestured to the east. “It will be here soon.”

“That's not the right way—”

“No. It isn't,” Mrs. Fitzgerald interrupted. “They are angry now, and when they get here they will be beyond all human reason. I wouldn't want to be the Weatherman, or his kin. So, either the agreement fails and the Seasons wander at will across the face of the world, or a new Weatherman steps forward.”

“That's Neil!” I said. “Neil is the next Weatherman. Not you!”

“You keep quiet!” Hugh shouted. “You'll learn how to keep quiet when you come to live with us!”

Mum's eyes went wide and her lips went thin with rage. I saw her hands clench into fists. “No,” she said. “You can't have her.”

“Oh, yes.” Her voice so calm and cool and reasonable, but with every word you could feel fear in the small of your back and the nape of your neck—cold and sharp. I could feel my teeth grinding together, not because I was angry or frustrated, but because I was scared. But she wasn't looking at me or Mum. She was looking at her sisters. “I am claiming Liz as my own. She's worth more than the rest of you put together, and I always wanted a sister for Hugh—just as I had sisters. She'll learn more and do more and see more with me than she ever could on her own, or with you. WHY ARE YOU NOT FIXING THE LINE?” It wasn't a shout. It was like her voice was a whip made of ice. Clive jumped like a startled frog, and lurched back to the hole. Bob and Cherie hurried to help. Tony tried to stand up, but John-Joe pushed him down flat on his back. The clouds were moving in from the horizon. Everything was getting darker and stranger.