Free Clash of the Sky Galleons by Paul Stewart, Chris Riddell

Quint’s hands. ‘This hunt for Turbot Smeal,’ she said, ‘it’s forcing him to take terrible risks … Are you sure it’s worth it, Quint?’
    Quint looked down at his feet. ‘He’s my father,’ he said miserably. ‘And I’m his right hand. Where he goes, I must follow.’
    ‘And me, Quint?’ said Maris, forcing him to look her in the eyes. ‘What am I?’
    Quint smiled and returned the squeeze on his hands. ‘You’re my friend, Maris …’
    Just then, there was the sound of the tap-tap-tapping of a leagues-cane and heavy footfalls, and into the sky-shipyard strode three individuals.
    The first was a colossus of a leaguesman, as broad as he was tall. He had a patch over his left eye, a shaved head, the scalp mottled and uneven, and a thick, grizzled moustache. He wore heavy boots, gleaming gauntlets and a broad belt worn so tight it accentuated his huge paunch, and from which hung a collection of weapons - a long-sword, a dagger, a sling, a ball and chain. Over his shirt and breeches, thick leather armour plates protected his neck, his chest, his shoulders and shins.
    Quint gulped. It was none other than the High Leaguesmaster of Undertown, Ruptus Pentephraxis, himself, the highest of the high-hats - even though, onthis occasion at least, his head was bare. Quint shook his head unhappily. He knew that Ruptus and Wind Jackal had a history of violence and enmity between them that went back for years.
    Beside the High Leaguesmaster, his companion tapped his long elegant leagues-cane impatiently. Small where Ruptus was large, thin and puny where Ruptus was huge and strong, his pinched face was swarthy, with piercing green eyes and black side-whiskers which had been waxed into sharp points. He was wearing long flowing robes with a high, jagged collar, and had metal spikes at the end of each of his thin bony fingers which glinted menacingly in the sunlight.
    Finger-spikes, Quint knew, were favoured more highly than rings by certain leaguesmasters, and these especially ornate points, glinting in the sunlight, could belong to only one person.
    Imbix Hoth was his name.
    For years Master of the League of Rock Merchants, he had recently also been appointed High Master of the entire Leagues of Flight - although there was some debate as to how this had happened. What was not in question was the fact that in Undertown he was now second in importance only to the High Leaguesmaster himself. Imbix Hoth controlled the trade in flight-rocks. Without his co-operation, no sky-shipyard could survive for long. Behind him stood a weedy, lop-eared goblin gripping a long, forked hat-pole, with which he supported his master’s extremely tall four-pronged hat.
    The two high-hat leaguesmasters strode past Quint andMaris, treating them as if they didn’t exist, before stopping at the chiselled entrance to the yardmaster’s tower. Behind them, the lop-eared goblin delicately prodded his master’s hat, which swayed slightly, and then winked over his shoulder at Quint and Maris. Ruptus Pentephraxis pounded at the tower door with one immense fist, and the startled face of Hummer the clerk appeared.

    Tell your master that the High Leaguesmaster is here, and that I’ve brought someone who can solve that little problem we’ve been having.’
    ‘Yes, sir, right away, sir. Do come in, sir,’ grovelled the clerk.
    The two leaguesmasters entered, the lop-eared goblin tipping off Imbix Hoth’s high hat just in time, and catching it in one hand as he followed them inside.
    ‘High-hats and their hat-tippers!’ said an amused-sounding voice. ‘Don’t you just love them?’
    ‘Excuse me?’ said Maris. ‘I … Oh!’ she smiled. ‘It’s you!’
    Thaw Daggerslash stood before them, smiling broadly his hands on his hips. ‘It is indeed,’ he said. ‘Mistress Maris Pallitax,’ he said, extending a hand in greeting. ‘It’s so good to see you again.’
    Maris smiled and held out her own hand, which Thaw took and turned over, before