Meanwhile, Charlie Glubson was falling. He fell for quite a long time for he’d been hanged at the top of quite a tall cliff. And as he was falling this is (more or less) what he thought to himself:

 

Well, here we go?

 

Go? Where?

 

Down.

 

We don’t want to go down. It’s wet down there.

 

Nevertheless, gravity insists.

 

But what will we do when we get there?

 

I doubt we’ll have to think about it for long.

 

Good point. Should we cry out? Or yell or something?

 

I doubt it’ll do much good.

 

I doubt it could do much harm.

 

Good point.

 

“HEEEEEELLLLPPP!”

 

Feel any better.

 

A little worse actually. What if we flapped our arms.

 

That won’t work.

 

It works for birds.

 

Fair. But not for boys.

 

Wait a minute.

 

That doesn’t seem like an option right now, but go on.

 

Aunt Annaruth hung us here by mistake, right?

 

Clearly.

 

But there’s only one thing she could possibly have meant to hang here.

 

Oh dear. You’re right.

 

And if she hung us here instead of the Red Pennant.

 

Then that means the Resistance hasn’t seen the signal.

 

And it means no one knows we’re all in terrible danger.

 

And no one is coming to help.

 

We’ve got to get out of here.

 

And we’ve got to tell Junie. She’ll be furious if she misses all the fun…again.

 

Well, now what.

 

Flap, I guess.

 

Charlie flapped. Flapflapflapflapflapflapflap.

 

A lone gull glode past and raised a doubtful eyebrow.

 

Charlie had to admit to himself that the flapping made him feel pretty silly. But he kept it up for longer than most people would have, and just as the great sea was rising up to lick his face and welcome him into her languid depths, Charlie thought for a moment that the flapping had actually begun to work. Then he felt a sharp tug at his waistline and heard a harsh cry on the wind.

 

“Hoooeee! Cliff Anger’s gotcha, kid. Let’s get you somewhere safe.” Cliff had deftly snatched Charlie by a belt-loop and lifted him away from the uprushing sea.

 

And then up, up, they went, flycycle flapping, Cliff Anger whooping in victory. 

 

Charlie shouted, “Mr. Anger, sir. Thanks for snatching me up. If you don’t mind, take a left at the next gaslamp, and then straight on till Morning Street. I’m afraid we’re all about to be in a great deal of trouble. Ride, Cliff Anger! Ride!”

 

“Hoooeee!”

 

Cliff rode.