While the newly promoted Sergeant Lace was saying a nervous hello to the ghosts of the Black Museum, Angel Dave was getting wet, seriously, waterlogged feathers wet. The storm that he’d flown into over the Irish Sea was getting dirty. He’d tried flying higher and getting above the bad weather, and he’d even tried wave skimming, but it didn’t matter; he was getting wetter and wetter, and that meant heavier. Judas was going to have to make it up to him. It was a bleak night, that was for sure, the clouds were heavy with rain, and the waves were trying to load them up with even more. The spray was whipping about everywhere, it seemed to be coming from all angles at once, which was new, and the salt was beginning to get into Angel Dave’s eyes and on his wick.
When the lightning started to cle
