The Great Galloon and the Pirate Queen (2 page)

Stanley upped and followed, and was just in time to see him crouch down near the boatswain's chair. He was pleased to see the Captain beckon him over. In the relative shelter of the rail, talking was easier.

‘To the observatory, lad,' said the Captain. ‘What's the quickest way, d'you think?'

‘Err – take the lift down to the 'tween deck, then along to the grand staircase, slide down the bannister, through the false back of the broom cupboard, into the dumb waiter, and down?' said Stanley, sticking his tongue out with the effort of remembering.

‘That's a way, yes, and a fine way when you're not with me,' said the Captain. He stopped, turned, and held Stanley by the shoulders. ‘Or we could walk the plank!'

‘We could walk the what now?' said Stanley, a huge smile spreading over his face.

‘You heard me, Stanley. Are you game?'

‘Yes, sir!'

‘For the last time, I'm no more a sir than you are a goblin!' The Captain looked Stanley over briefly, from the crumpled unicorn's horn on his head to the ends of his blue furry fingers. ‘You're not a goblin, are you?'

‘Shouldn't think so. What's a goblin?' said Stanley, still smiling.

‘Well – quite.' This seemed to be enough for the Captain, who snapped to attention again. ‘The plank, I say! Let's go.'

They moved quickly towards the pointy front end of the ship, and were soon standing by a capstan, a thick iron post with a rope wrapped round it. The Captain immediately put his back to the handle that made the capstan turn, and the rope began to unwind. Stanley tried to help, but could barely reach, so he ended up standing on top of the iron contraption, peeping over the edge of the Galloon, where a gap in the rail meant he could see down to the clouds below.

‘What's it doing!?' he yelled.

‘Watch, boy!' yelled the Captain. ‘You'll see!'

Stanley looked out again, and this time he caught a glimpse of something – as the Captain pushed, a plank was beginning to emerge from the deck of the Galloon, and heave itself out over the void.

‘Tarheel!' bellowed the Captain, his enormous voice carrying through the storm. ‘To me, my friend!'

Crewman Tarheel, struggling by with a coil of rope in his hand, joined the Captain at the capstan, and soon Stanley was watching the plank extending from the deck of the Galloon like a ruler on an almighty desk. It thrummed in a similar way, as the wind caught it, and Stanley couldn't quite believe that the Captain was planning to walk out on the plank – and to what end? He didn't know, but he had learned a long time ago to trust the Captain in even his strangest decisions.

‘Thank 'ee, Tarheel!' cried the Captain, and as the crewman saluted, he waved a hand dismissively.

‘Wish I could stop people doing that!' he said to Stanley. ‘Maybe, Stanley, when you're the … never mind. The plank is out – let's walk it.'

Stanley clambered down from the capstan, and grabbed onto the rail for safety. He watched as the Captain lay down on his front, and edged his way to the very lip of the deck – below him, the swirling storm, and the raging sea. Stanley's heart was thumping in his throat, not for the first time in his adventures with the Captain. But he followed. Lying down on the deck, he half crawled, half shuffled out onto the oaken plank that served as a gangway when they were in port, but now felt worryingly like a diving board. The Captain was now a person's length away from the deck, and Stanley was right behind him. Stanley told himself that if the Captain was doing it, it must be okay – though he could hear the voice of his friend the Countess telling him that the Captain was only a man, and a man who made as many mistakes as anyone else.

From this angle, he could see mainly the soles of the Captain's enormous boots, inches from his head. The Captain called something over his shoulder, but the noise of the storm was so intense here that Stanley could not make it out. The Captain was pointing down and out – so that's where Stanley looked.

The gyrocopter was now chuntering along below them. As he stared through the cloud and rain, Stanley could see the side of the Galloon dropping away into the far distance. And next to it, only a few feet clear, the gyrocopter seemed to be keeping pace with them. The Galloon was still racing along, its steam-powered automatic pilot system keeping them on course, so Stanley knew that the gyrocopter was probably flying flat out to keep up. As he watched, the clattering machine began to rise towards them, until it was hovering about twenty feet from the end of the plank.

‘Corks,' said Stanley aloud. ‘He's not going to …?'

‘I am, lad!' yelled the Captain. ‘And so are you! No time for the long way round – this is how we get to the observatory before the Sumbaroon dives and loses us forever!'

A gust caught the plank, and for a moment Stanley thought all was lost. But the Captain seemed to be the sturdiest thing in this wind-whipped world. He carefully lifted himself to a standing position. Stanley couldn't believe his eyes. Hurtling through the skies, in a storm that registered ‘Cor blimey' on the Rasmussen scale, the Captain stood calmly on the plank as if it were a bowling green. He held out his enormous hands for Stanley, who grabbed them tightly and tried his best to stand up.

‘On my boots, lad – you'll be steadier there!' said the Captain.

Stanley stepped up onto the Captain's boat-like boots. He was soaked to the skin, terrified for his life, and happier than he could ever remember being. The gyrocopter thumped the air below them.

‘Where is the observatory, Stanley?' cried the Captain.

‘On the keel, sir, down below. Lowest point of the Galloon.'

‘Yes indeedy – and when you're up high, and you need to be low, the quickest way is …?'

‘To … fall?' said Stanley above the howling.

‘Yup!' said the Captain – and together, they fell.

Stanley's words, breath and fear were stolen away by the wind. Then the Captain was reaching out with one enormous hand, holding both of Stanley's in the other. He grabbed something – Stanley's eyes were now shut tight, but he assumed it was part of the gyrocopter – and then they weren't falling any more, but flying. The 'copter veered away, and started taking them down, down towards the sea. They were pulling away, flying in a wide arc underneath the great vessel. With streaming eyes, Stanley searched for their target – a tiny bubble of glass on the keel of the Galloon, known as the observatory. It was like looking for a drawing pin on a football field.

They were now right underneath the great flying ship, and coming up again. From here he could see the invisibarnacles, skyweed and crab-rot that clung to the bottom. The observatory itself was now visible – a kind of domed window just sturdy enough for two people to clamber inside. The gyrocopter, though expertly flown by the Countess, was in real peril of being smashed against the keel. As they approached the glass dome, the Captain let go of one of Stanley's hands.

‘The catch, lad!' he bellowed.

Stanley looked, and saw that the dome was closed with a simple latch.

‘Home and dry!' the Captain shouted, and he smiled. Stanley reached out, and easily flicked open the window. There was a slight lurch from the 'copter, but soon he was back in place, and he grabbed the windowsill.

‘After you!' cried the Captain.

Stanley carefully leapt from the Captain's boots, so now he was hanging by both hands from the bottom-most point of the Galloon. The gyrocopter was rock steady, and as Stanley pulled himself inside, the Captain also made the leap. Stanley was now inside the dome, face down on the glass, while the Captain squeezed in behind him. The noise was still phenomenal, but once they were both inside the observatory, the Captain turned to him and spoke in a more normal voice.

‘I think we can close that now!'

As the gyrocopter pulled away, Stanley reached out and grabbed the latch of the open window. The view below him was truly astounding – they were low over the sea, and the crests of the waves were like white horses galloping along. He stopped to look for a moment, and then yanked the window shut. Stanley breathed out, but there was no time to relax.

‘Look, Stanley!' said the Captain, pointing down at the sea. ‘Look what we would have landed on if we'd fallen!'

There, only a few dozen feet below them now they were at the lowest point of the Great Galloon, was a great grey shape, shoving its way through the sea. It bashed and crashed into every wave, but seemed to be making good progress nonetheless – it was slowly pulling away from them.

‘The Grand Sumbaroon!' murmured Captain Anstruther.

‘And on it, your despicable brother, who made off with your wife-to-be, Isabella, just moments before you were due to marry her!' said Stanley.

The Captain gave him a funny look.

‘Yes, thank you, Stanley, I know all that. I have thought of little else since that fateful day. But the end is in sight – I will not lose them again. Even in this storm.'

‘But the Sumbaroon can dive, can't it? And get away unseen?'

‘It is my belief that the Sumbaroon will struggle to dive for long in this swell – even at the best of times it cannot stay below for longer than an hour or two. As long as we keep track of its course, we should be able to follow it wherever it goes. We will rescue my Isabella soon.'

‘Well – that's good. And then we can have some wedding cake at last,' said Stanley.

Cloudier Peele was whooping. She didn't often allow herself a good whoop, as she did not see herself as the whooping type. Whooping, she felt, was for jolly people in multicoloured clothes. People who might say things like ‘chin up', and ‘You have to laugh!?' But whoop she did, and here's why.

She was standing in the crow's nest high up the mainmast of the phenomenally huge flying ship, with lightning crackling all around her, the rain in her face, and the rush of the wind in her hair. The main balloon itself loomed over her like a storm cloud made of dark red canvas. Usually this was enough to keep the worst of the wind and rain away, but today the water was being whipped from the sea below and the clouds above. It was being thrown about by the wind in such a way that there was no dry corner to be found. Her velvet dress was ruined, her book of interesting thoughts was now a mush of soggy pages, but she had given in to exhilaration, and it felt great. She even did a little dance, because no-one was watching.

She had been here quite a lot recently, spending time with her friend who was a boy, Clamdigger. He too was away right now, but the fact that he might pop up through the lubbers' hole at any moment, was at least part of what made Cloudier dance.

As she so often did, she felt a sudden rush of self-consciousness, and sat down heavily on the little bench that ran round the inside of the crow's nest. She put an eye to the powerful telescope that stood nearby, and peered out. Although she was many feet above the deck, her field of view was limited by the gigantic balloon above, the ship itself below, and the rigging and sails that surrounded her. But she could see the horizon all around, and she peered at it intently. She knew that many members of the Galloon's crew were out there in the storm, hoping to spot the Grand Sumbaroon, and give chase. She secretly hoped to be the first to see it.

A small brassbound box on the bench beside her hissed and spat, drawing her away from the search.