Tab slumped against Fontagu. She had promised Torby that she would protect him, no matter what. And he had trusted her…

Tears spilled down her cheeks. She felt awful. Was it always this easy to betray someone?

Fontagu produced a monogrammed silk handkerchief, the kind that equalled a week's wages for a poor Quentaran, and dabbed the perspiration from his brow. Noticing Amelia and Philmon glaring at him, he offered the handkerchief to Tab. She snatched it from his hand and wiped her eyes and blew her nose. Then she offered it back to Fontagu.

He eyed the dampened handkerchief with disdain. ‘Consider it a gift,’ he said through gritted teeth.

The boat picked up speed as it sailed out over the rooftops of Tolrush, avoiding Kull's castle which protruded from the portside like a dark tumour.

‘I'm glad that's over,’ said Philmon, breathing a sigh.

But he had spoken too soon. A flurry of arrows suddenly whizzed past them. Several twanged into the bottom of the boat and one came whistling through the gap where the plank had fallen off.

‘They're firing from that rooftop,’ said Tab, pointing.

Amelia muttered something, wove her hands in the air. The boat tossed and twisted, nearly flipping over at one point. Philmon and Fontagu looked ill.

‘You idiot!’ Fontagu screamed as the boat spiralled downwards instead of up. ‘We're doomed! Oh! Oh!’

The boat righted itself and began to fly straight, though it sagged alarmingly at the stern. Everyone had to hold on tight to stay aboard.

‘I'm falling!’ Fontagu screamed piteously. Tab grabbed him and tugged. The boat suddenly veered into a clear area, away from the higher towers, but several planks popped their rivets and were snapped away, as if torn by a buffeting wind.

‘We're breaking up. Do something!’ cried Fontagu.

‘Yeah,’ growled Amelia, ‘somebody do something. Gag him, so I can concentrate.’

Philmon awkwardly clamped a hand across Fontagu's mouth. Over the top of Philmon's hand, Tab could see Fontagu's eyes bulge.

Amelia was struggling to keep the boat moving and under control. They began to lose height, though they were still high above Quentaris.

Faster and faster they fell. The ground appeared to rush up at them. Then, just as a crash-landing seemed inevitable, they veered off towards Quentaris. Amelia groaned and her eyes rolled back.

By now Amelia was white-faced and shaking from trying to keep them in the air. The boat continued to lose height in an alarming fashion.

Tab didn't think Amelia could hold out for much longer. Fontagu's extra weight didn't help either. A sudden thought smote her. Had Torby known that his added weight would have doomed them?

She looked over the side. Quentaris was appreciably closer, but still a long way down. Then, clutching the gunwale, she peered back at Tolrush, hoping beyond hope to see Torby. She gasped loudly. Tolrush had vanished!

Philmon looked over her shoulder and nodded. ‘It's cloaked, like we said. That's why Quentaris isn't piling on the canvas and getting out of here.’

Tab's chest hurt. If Tolrush was still there, then hopefully Torby was too, but it felt as if a piece of her heart had disappeared.

Behind her, Philmon said, ‘Hey, look at that!’

Though there were few clouds about, lightning struck suddenly across the broiling grey sky. Thunder rumbled. As they watched, a fog appeared from nowhere and began to envelop Quentaris.

They were now almost over the city and as they drifted in amongst the swathes of canvas, masts and rigging, the fog thickened. Suddenly, Amelia cried out. At the same moment she lost control of the boat, which began to spin, dropping faster and faster. Everyone grabbed the gunwale and held on for dear life.

‘We're going to die!’ wailed Fontagu, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. The boat lurched, nearly spilling them into the air.

Everyone screamed.

‘Hold on!’ shouted Tab.

The boat bucked frenziedly, as if it were trying to shake them out of it. It whizzed amongst the rigging and whirled around the First Mast six times until everyone on board was dizzy.

The boat banked sharply, dropped still lower, and accelerated towards the mainmast. ‘We're going to crash!’ yelled Philmon. ‘Hard over, Amelia!’

‘The rigging!’ cried Tab. ‘We've got to jump!’

The boat zoomed towards a tangled spider's web of rope work. ‘Not yet!’ yelled Tab. She forced Fontagu unsteadily to his feet. The others were already poised to leap. As the boat soared past the rigging, Tab half leapt and half fell out of the boat. From the corner of her eye she saw Philmon and Amelia make it safely but Fontagu had waited too long. By the time he jumped the boat was nearly past the last cord and he had barely managed to grab hold of it.

‘Help me!’ he shrieked, hanging by one hand as he dangled six hundred feet above the deck, as the ground level was called. Tab scrambled across the rigging, mindful she didn't plunge through one of the large gaps. She managed to reach him just as his grip started to slip.

She grabbed his wrist and hung on, her injured hand burning. Behind her, the boat crashed into the mainmast in a shower of splinters.

Then Amelia and Philmon were beside her and between them they yanked Fontagu onto the rigging where he sat, pale and gasping, not daring to look down.

‘Now what?’ Amelia gasped. She didn't look any happier than Fontagu.

‘Just follow me,’ said Philmon. ‘This is my territory.’

He led them, slowly and carefully, up the rigging that was like a big sloping ladder made of rope, to a cross-spar. The spar, which held the great billowing sail in place, was almost as wide as a lane and led straight to the mainmast. From there they could make their way down to the deck.

Tab was pondering on what had happened to Torby, and how it might have felt to have had a little brother in her life, when the next mishap happened.

Reaching the more or less solid ground again seemed to have gone to Fontagu's head. And if the truth were known, he very much wanted everyone to forget just how scared he had been moments before. ‘Now wasn't that fun?’ he said, in a loud and jovial voice. ‘We should do it again some time.’

Philmon grunted. Amelia, however, jumped forward and yelled, ‘Boo!’

Fontagu screamed and leapt backwards – towards the edge of the spar.

‘Fontagu!’ yelled Tab. But it was too late. He had stepped too far and was teetering on the very edge, his arms windmilling as he tried to save himself. ‘Nooo… ’ he cried.

Tab lunged forward just as he started to tilt backwards, grabbed his outflung arm and tugged with all her might. It was just enough to tip the balance. Fontagu staggered forward, groaning with relief. For better purchase, he gripped Tab's tunic and pulled hard, but in doing so, Tab suddenly found herself stumbling towards the edge.

‘No!’ she cried out, plunging headfirst off the cross-spar.

As Tab fell, she heard the others scream, then the air was whistling past her ears and she was dropping… Below her was a great sail, straining against the wind. She was falling towards it.

Moments before she hit, she yanked the dagger from her belt, then ooomph! – she struck the canvas, which collapsed a little beneath her. Then, winded, she began to slide over the bulge of the sail. She twisted round and plunged her knife into the thick sheeting.

Her sliding fall slowed, but not for long. As soon as she hit the outermost bulge of the sail she would be flung out into empty space toward the mizzenmast… unless the dagger helped her cling to the canvas!

Which was exactly what happened.

She continued to slide. Her dagger slicing into the canvas, she followed the curve of the sail. But this was only a brief reprieve.

Below her, the sail came to a sudden lethal end. And then she saw something, and her heart leapt. It was a knotted double rope with foot and arm loops, the kind used by canvassers. It was the job of these men and women to deploy the canvas and also repair it, a task which often had to be done while Quentaris was under sail.