Jack looked up and saw a thick sail rope tangled in the rigging of the gallant, its block and tackle flailing dangerously.

‘You’ve got to be kidding! Why me? What about the others?’ exclaimed Jack, nodding towards the two petrified sailors hanging on for grim life on the other side of the yardarm.

‘I would’ve asked your friend Christiaan,’ replied Ginsel, glancing over at a small Dutch lad, the same age as Jack, with mouse-like eyes that were full of fear, ‘but he’s no Jack Fletcher. You’re the best rigging monkey we’ve got.’

‘But that’s suicidal…’ protested Jack.

‘So’s sailing round the world, yet we’ve gone and done it!’ replied Ginsel, attempting a reassuring smile, but his shark-like teeth only made him appear maniacal. ‘Without that topsail, there’s no way the Captain can save this ship. It’s got to be done and you’re the monkey for it.’

‘All right,’ said Jack, realizing he had little choice. ‘But you’d better be ready to catch me!’

‘Trust me, little brother, I wouldn’t want to lose you now. Tie this rope round your waist. I’ll keep hold of the other end. Best take my knife too. You’ll need to cut the halyard free.’

Jack secured the tie-rope and clamped the roughly honed blade between his teeth. He then clambered up the mast to the topgallant. Using the little rigging available, Jack edged along the spar towards the tangled halyard.

The going was treacherously slow, the wind pulling at him with a thousand unseen hands. Glancing down, Jack could barely make out his father far below on the quarterdeck. For a moment he swore he saw his father wave at him.

‘Look ouuuutttt!’ warned Ginsel.

Jack turned to see the loose block and tackle come flying out of the storm straight towards his head. He threw himself to one side, dodging it, but in the process lost his grip and slipped from the spar.

Jack snatched for the rigging, grabbing hold of a loose halyard as he fell. His hands ripped down the rope, the rough hemp cutting deep into his palms. Despite the searing pain, he somehow kept his grip.

He hung there, flying in the wind.

The sea. The ship. The sail. The sky. All of them swirled around him.

‘Don’t worry. I’ve got you!’ shouted Ginsel above the storm.

He pulled on the tie-rope strung over the topgallant and hauled Jack towards it. Jack reached up and flipped his legs over the spar, swinging himself upright. It took several moments for Jack to regain his breath, sucking in air between teeth still clamped round Ginsel’s knife.

Once the burning pain in his hands had subsided, Jack resumed his painstaking crawl along the spar. Eventually the tangled halyard was only inches from his face. Jack took the knife from his mouth and began to hack away at the sodden rope. But the knife proved too blunt and it took him several attempts before the threads started to cleave apart. Jack’s fingers were icy to the core and his bloodied palms made his grip slippery and awkward. A blast of wind shunted him sideways and in attempting to steady himself, the blade spun away with the storm.