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with its beak. It was a tropical paradise. OF DOOM.
    ‘By the second-hand tutu of old Captain Ballerina!’ exclaimed Captain Brazil as the
Sirloin
swayed drunkenly towards shore. ‘The river has burst its banks and ’tis flooding the land! Yaar, yaar, yaar! It be terrible! Heave ho, mateys! We are here – though were it not for Elizabeth, I would never have returned to this accursed place! Nimpy! Release the prisoners!’
    ‘Aye aye, cap’n,’ said the First Mate, Nimpy Windowmash. He unlocked the brig and Polly and Friday stumbled out, coughing and gasping in the thick, crowded air.
    ‘Prisoners,’ announced Captain Brazil grandly. ‘You are free to go. Now, be off with you and trouble me no more. Oh, I just remembered,’ he added, turning towards Friday. ‘Elizabeth asked me to give you these.’ And he pressed a few pots of yogurt into Friday’s hand.
    ‘Excellent!’ exclaimed Friday, putting them into his secret Yogurt-Storing Compartment, otherwise known as his mouth. ‘I love yogurts.’
    ‘An’ so ’tis farewell,’ said Captain Brazil, standing to attention and saluting until Polly and Friday were out of sight. ‘And now to marry Elizabeth!’
    But sadly for Captain Brazil, Elizabeth never did show up that morning or even the next. And eventually he gave up waiting and headed back to sea.
    ‘For the sea she never does let ye down,’ he told his crew. ‘An’ there’s adventures out there for the takin’, me boys! With a heave an’ a ho an’ a bucket of wine, there’s adventures out there for the takin’!’

    ‘Come on!’ cried Polly as she and Friday raced into town. ‘There’s no time to lose! We gots to get THE DEPARTMENT OF CLOUDS AN’ YOGURTS rollin’ again. We gots to ’vestigate every last buildin’ and find them villainers!’
    Overhead, the ugly clouds roiled and broiled and groiled. The rising waters snaked along after them and with every step, the air grew thicker and sludgier with the stench of rotten meat.
    ‘Oh, no!’ exclaimed Alan Taylor from Polly’s pocket. ‘I can’t breathe this, I’m a vegetarian!’
    Soon they were on the high street – but Polly barely recognised it. There was hardly anyone around, just a few people sitting quietly in shop doorways or stretched out hopelessly on the cracked and dusty ground.
    ‘It’s – so hot,’ croaked the little girl called Peter. ‘We can’t – breathe!’
    ‘And there’s a – beached whale by the town hall!’ gasped Martin Launderette, who ran the launderette.
    ‘I’m not – a – beached whale!’ replied Jonathan Ripples, the fattest man in town.
    ‘Yes – you are,’ croaked Martin Launderette unkindly.
    FLOOOOB!
    BUFFFFFFFSSSH!
    Clouds fell from the sky.
    The sun beat down mercilessly.
    Cactuses had started to grow through the pavements.
    ‘Terrible days!’ cawed flocks of brightly coloured parrots from the rooftops. ‘Terrible days! Terrible days! Awk!’
    Old Granny sat out in the middle of the street, rocking back and forth in her chair. ‘Terrible days! Terrible days!’ she muttered, taking a suck on her six-mile long straw. ‘Temperatures rising! Rivers bursting their banks! A cactus growing under my feet! The world’s turned upside-down!’
    But THE DEPARTMENT OF CLOUDS AN’ YOGURTS had no time to spend listening to Old Granny’s ramblings.
    ‘Billy said they was hidin’ out in a secret hideout,’ said Polly. ‘We gots to search everywhere we can think of an’ even some places we can’t!’
    ‘We must leave no stone unturned!’ said Friday, turning over a stone in case the secret hideout was underneath. ‘Let’s go!’
    So Polly and Friday got the map from their office and all that morning they searched beneath the sweltering sun, colouring in bits of the map as they went.
    And all that morning Old Granny rocked back and forth in her chair and shook her head. And all that morning the cactus grew higher and higher between her legs until she and her chair were ten feet