MR. DROOB PACED PIRATE’S WHARF, SURVEYING THE last remaining soldiers as they dismantled the huge scaffold over the river. Bodies had recently stopped washing ashore, possibly due to the high presence of soldiers in Old Town guarding against any wrongdoing. Over the past few weeks, his assistant had had next to nothing to do, and spent many hours wandering along the riverside with his hook and lamp, dragging his heels. Today had changed their fortunes, however.
It was a dark and misty night yet again, and a cold breeze — enough to chill the tips of your fingers in your fingerless gloves — blew across the wharf. Despite the lack of recent rich pickings washing up from the river, Mr. Droob’s pockets were bulging with money, and while keeping his hands warm he flicked through the dollars.
He was pleased with his work and had been paid a lot to see to all the pirate bodies. He would have liked the chance to deal with Mousebeard, but even without the captain he couldn’t argue with what he’d been given. There was no body in the world as colorful as a pirate’s, and he took a last look at the cage of the gibbet, swinging gently. It was his masterpiece, and he took great effort to make it as imposing as possible.
The ironwork trapped the pirate perfectly, with only one arm falling limply through the bars. Apparently, the pirate had been called Scragneck, and Mr. Droob thought the name most apt. He was an excellent warning to any would-be pirates.
Mr. Droob called to his assistant to come out of the cold, and then headed back to his hut, where a warm fire was burning away. The night was going to be a long one.
