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the Great Galloon’s mighty mast that stuck out of the
top
of the balloon, hundreds of feet above even the crow’s nest. Like a kitten stuck in the curtains, she gingerly manoeuvred herself round until her feet were down by the balloon and her head was in the air. Above her were just a few feet of mast, topped with a long, flowing pennant, in bright orange and yellow. Above that was a bright figure, an eagle with wings outstretched, standing in a golden nest. The Captain emerged behind Cloudier, like a massive grogram-clad baby being born, and righted himself as she had.
    â€˜To the eagle’s lair!’ he cried, and carried on climbing. ‘You can see the world from up there!’
    Cloudier followed him.
    â€˜And, perhaps, your bride-to-be in the Sumbaroon!’ she added.
    â€˜Yes! Yes, of course. Onwards!’
    Able Skyman Abel was, not for the first time, a tiny bit ashamed of himself. He had spent most of the stormy days deep inside the Galloon, keeping a vital eye on the warmest, comfiest, least wind-battered places he could find, such as the kitchens, his own bedroom, and the space between the funnel and the bakery, where you could lie still and listen to the throb of the boiler, with the smell of new buns in your nose.
    So now Abel was doing what he did best, which was overseeing. Overseeing, on this occasion, involved standing at the very front of the Great Galloon, where the starboard rail met the larboard rail. (Abel prided himself on being about the only person on board who knew that ‘starboard’ and ‘larboard’ meant ‘left and right’, although he was also relieved, because he wasn’t sure which was which and he didn’t want some smart alec pointing it out to him, thank you very much.) So he stood at the pointy end of the Galloon, one foot to larboard, one foot to starboard, or possibly vice versa, and oversaw the tiny flotilla that was going to try and tow the Galloon out of the Dumps.
    He fought off a strange urge to tell everyone he was king of the world. Abel could hear voices, a long way off but audible in the utterly still air, that told him someone was, for once, doing as he had asked. The splash had been made by a boat being lowered from a pulley on the sta … right-hand side of the Galloon, a short distance behind Abel. He watched it pitch a little on the sea, and then settle.
    â€˜Easy there!’ he cried, through his megaphone, more out of a need to be involved than anything else.
    â€˜Skyman Abel, sir!’ came a voice that Abel recognised as that of Jack Clamdigger, the cabin boy who was, in his opinion, getting ideas above his station.
    â€˜That’s Skyman Abel,
sir
to you!’ he called back.
    â€˜Erm, that’s what I said,’ called Clamdigger.
    Abel ran the conversation through his head again, and rallied well.
    â€˜With the
italics
next time, please! I can tell, you know. Anyway – out with it, lad. What is it?’
    â€˜Will you be leading the towing party,
sir?
’ called Clamdigger.
    â€˜Ha! Will I ever!’ cried Skyman Abel, who hadn’t thought about it until just that moment. But yes – this could be the way to show his mettle. To lead the party which would pull the Galloon out of the Dumps and back into the reliable Winds of Change. And into the Captain’s favour.
    â€˜I should coco, young man! Not many like me for putting my back into some honest toil! Away boat three, by the way.’
    Now Abel had hopped down and was making his way towards the short wooden crane which was lowering the boats. A small crowd of Gallooniers was standing around it, watching boat three receding.
    â€˜Already gone, sir,’ called Clamdigger.
    â€˜Wait for orders next time, Clamdigger. Guessing ’em is just showy.’
    â€˜Aye aye,
sir,
’ said Clamdigger, with a roll of the eyes that Abel only half noticed. One of the other Gallooniers let out a little laugh. Abel assumed he