They meet in the middle soon enough, spending a few moments using loose ties and gaskets to secure the folded sail's head to the mast proper before undoing the final set of lashings binding the canvas to the yard.

"Right, er," Crowley says when the sail hangs almost free, eyeing the tangled mass of rigging still surrounding the foremast with a dubious expression. "Do we... want to try and extricate whatever line we need to lower this, or will I just try and carry it?"