The captain returned with a look of resolve in his eye, though only after some hours of deep discussion, first with Hamish, then with various members of the Saltire's crew. He also wore the dark version of the sporran, already engraved with his name. I was practicing katas in the old Library - which has no books, and is normally too cold to use in the colder months, but thanks to the Saltire's most excellent heating system was now quite pleasant. He waited until I had finished and then he walked across the floor with a light step and lifted chin, as though he already proposed to cross vast distances.

'You intend to hunt the Giant Arctic Flying Squirrel again.' I said - it was not a question, I knew that a man so driven would never give up the quest to wear the pelt of the Acryli-beast he had killed himself.
He bowed gracefully, and smiled, but absently, already he was thinking of the hunt. He had changed from the maroon kilt of the Saltires into a handsome kilt of a mainly blue tartan, with a deep blue jacket, a light blue tie with a gold pattern, - his attire could not have been better chosen if it had been selected by Hamish - and perhaps it had.

'I was so foolish to think that any other pelt could satisfy me. The rabbit fur is excellent, and I will one day return to purchase a sporran, should the buck prove to be able to pass on his appearance to his progeny. Henceforth I will be proud to wear the blue arctos fur sporran made to commemorate Hamish's return as it is the most elegant accessory to our tartan. However, though I will return home with the Saltire - I vow that one day soon I will again seek out an Acryli-beast and slay it by my own efforts, in the far North, and in the white form, as nothing else will suffice.'

I bowed in return.

'I wish you good luck and success in your endeavor. I have - however, to tell you of what might be a small impediment to your plans.'
'Not the Saltire! Surely my moment of madness has not damaged that most-'

I held up my hand reassuringly. 'She is entirely undamaged, except for a tiny scorch mark on the deck of the gondola which even now is being expunged by your excellent technicians, caused by the hot metal of the missile's exhaust. Even now she is safe at her moorings and being readied for your return home. No - it is something more personal. All the stocks of gin are gone.'
He rallied from the blow most nobly.
'How?' he enquired, his voice tremulous, and he turned away his face to hide his eyes.
'I can't be certain - perhaps it was used to make the exploding canisters, perhaps it was dispersed in the release of the build up of steam pressure which threatened the airship, or perhaps it was drunk by the marines and others who came to offer assistance. All I can be certain of is that there is no gin aboard the Saltire, though the wormwood liquor, olives and the rest are untouched.'
He straightened up, cleared his throat.
'It is a most dreadful blow, but the vermouth is safe?'
I nodded, touched by his fortitude in the face of loss.
'Then I will send out for new stocks, I will replenish my supplies, it will be restored.' he declared, his eyes flashed, he was resolved to overcome this disaster entirely.
'Bravo!' I responded. 'However - it might be wise to check that the Saltire can cope with the weight. You have bought so much on your tour that the lifting power of the Helium might not be sufficient to carry you home safely.'
He nodded. 'You are wise to caution me, it might indeed be necessary to discard a few items in order to ensure a safe passage home.'
'There are the flour scales in the pantry if you wish to ascertain the weight of the various parcels.' I offered.
'Can it weigh persons too?'
'Easily - you wish to ensure the safety of your crew?'
'Something like that.' he said, smiling that far away smile again. 'Now - please excuse me - I have much to organise.'
I nodded, and he turned with a swirl of deep pleats and strode away, to whatever fate awaited him.