by Alex Milway
The crowd hushed in awe. Everyone’s eyes turned to the cage. Judging the moment perfectly, the Town Crier started up again, his arms shooting out and waving wildly.
“Two perfectly formed Golden Mice! A rarer sight you won’t see, and if it wasn’t for the brilliance of the Old Town Guard, they would have met a grisly and untimely death . . . .”
The cheers thundered out again.
“And this brings me neatly to the second reason why you’re all here . . . .”
The Town Crier puffed out his chest and strode to the edge of the platform.
“Let me present to you . . . the great . . . the magnificent . . . the soon-to-be-executed . . . ”
The crowd shrieked as he pointed to the huddle of prisoners with his long arm.
“ . . . MOUSEBEARD!”
The whole of Pirate’s Wharf erupted with devilish joy.
Emiline was engulfed by the noise of the crowd as she slid through the back streets, dodging deftly from left to right to avoid the people. She was alert to everything around her, her eyes wide open and on the lookout for Miserley. Nothing would stop her from getting Portly back.
“Get out of the way!” shouted a man as Emiline hurried past. She elbowed him and rushed on, amazed at how many people had come to see the executions. Just past the entrance to the wharf, all the viewing stands loomed high. They were full of rich people dressed in fine clothes — all people that should have known better, she thought.
She avoided any soldiers on the way, ducking low and using her short height as an advantage to avoid prying eyes. When she first caught a glimpse of the completed scaffold through a gap in the crowd, she was overwhelmed. The Town Crier held everyone’s attention as he paced back and forth, working his audience. When she spotted the cage of the Golden Mice she headed straight for them, squeezing into the tiniest gaps so that she could get closer.
The crowd suddenly erupted around her and started shouting “Mousebeard” over and over in a deafening chant. She carried on, finding it easier to move now that people had their arms raised and their attention focused on something. Eventually she saw Spires, looking awkward amongst the mob of people and soldiers, and she moved closer. Luckily no soldier knew who she was, so when she approached, they thought she was out to watch the executions like everyone else.
“Mr. Spires,” she said cautiously, tugging at his jacket sleeve. “Any sign?”
Spires looked down and shook his head. He was trying to maintain an air of authority, and was partially succeeding.
“Nothing, I’m afraid,” he said, his eyes fixed firmly on the crowd and not Emiline. “But Battersby isn’t here yet. His seat is empty, and it’s not like him to miss his moment of glory.”
Emiline’s attention was taken by the Town Crier, who had succeeded in dampening the noise of the crowd a little. She struggled to see over the crowd.
“And so we come to the purpose of this morning. Let me introduce the first of our condemned prisoners from the Silver Shark!”
The crowd roared again, and the six pirates were herded up through the crowds onto the wooden platform. The executioner was dressed in loose black garb, with a hood pulled down over his head. Through small eyeholes his beady eyes surveyed the prisoners as they walked past. Mr. Droob stood quietly next to him and made notes in his little book.
Emiline struggled to see the men walking onto the platform, and stretched up to try and see if it was Drewshank.
“Don’t worry yet,” said Spires, who had a much better view. “You won’t miss Mousebeard or Drewshank. They’ll be executed last. I’ll make sure you get a good look.”
Emiline realized that he was letting her know the situation without giving any secrets away to the soldiers next to him. It didn’t do anything to stop her from worrying though.
“Any news on Scratcher?” she asked desperately as the drums got louder and more ferocious. Each pirate was being taken to a position above a trapdoor.
“Nothing . . . .”
Suddenly the drums stopped dead. Emiline looked to Spires as the trapdoors clunked down and the crowd roared. The deafening noise made the moment even more horrific.
Emiline grew steadily more scared as time passed with still no sight of Miserley. Group by group, the pirates took their turns on the scaffold. The crowd’s cheering grew ever louder as the morning progressed, everyone awaiting the main event: the execution of Mousebeard.
“Come on, boy!” shouted Battersby as he dragged Scratcher through the crowds toward Pirate’s Wharf. An armed guard cleared the path ahead.
“There are more of them — they must be here,” said Miserley, who was walking behind. Her eyes surveyed every face she passed.
“You’re lucky you aren’t going to hang too,” said Battersby.
“I’m too useful,” said the girl knowingly.
“For now, at least,” he added. “I’ve been waiting for this day for years, and I’m sure not going to miss it because of those scum. I’ll have my soldiers informed of your worries. No one will rescue Mousebeard . . . .”
“I wouldn’t be so sure. I told you, I’ll find them myself,” she said.
“I don’t care!” he shouted back, pulling Scratcher against his will. “The Old Town Guard will do a better job!”
The crowd started to react to this odd stumbling group. A ripple of acknowledgment spread through the people. When they realized it was Lord Battersby, his name was soon echoing around the wharf.
The Town Crier raised his hand to stop the executioner, and left six pirates standing helplessly over the trapdoors.
“And what is this surprise?” he shouted joyfully. “None other than Lord Battersby! What an entrance!”
Battersby basked in the adulation before reaching the base of the scaffold. Miserley stood close by.
“I’ve got another pirate to hang,” he said proudly, and with these words the crowd cheered even louder.
Scratcher was thoroughly worn out and finished. His eyes were bruised and his face bloodied. It looked as though he’d been beaten and received no rest since his capture. He slouched behind Battersby, his arms tied.
“One more criminal for the gallows!” bellowed the Town Crier.
Emiline’s face paled. She’d heard the chanting of Battersby’s name, but she had no idea what had been going on. The crowd roared.
Spires gripped his hands and scratched his palms.
“They’ve got a boy they plan to execute, Emiline,” he said plainly, trying not to let the worry show in his voice. “He looks about your age . . . .”
Emiline felt her hope vanish.
“But there’s also a girl with Battersby. They’re talking . . . .”
“Long dark hair?” asked Emiline.
“And a mousebox . . . ”
“It’s Miserley!” said Emiline.
“It would seem so,” replied the butler.
Emiline took a deep breath.
“Don’t worry, Emiline. I’ll see what I can do.”
Spires said a few words to the soldiers guarding the Golden Mice and then pushed through the crowd, leaving Emiline alone.
As the trapdoors dropped for the penultimate time, Scratcher was taken to the last huddle of prisoners. He was pushed to the floor next to his captain and Mousebeard.
“Scratcher!” said Drewshank.
“Hello,” he replied sadly. “We tried to help. I don’t know what happened to Emiline, but Battersby’s men got me.”
“I hate him,” muttered Drewshank.
“His time will come soon,” said Mousebeard, the color returning slightly to his white face. The fresh salty air that drifted out from the sea-bound river had revived his spirits a little. “Be strong, boy. This won’t be your last morning . . . .”
Scratcher looked beyond the line of guards that surrounded them and was suddenly awed by the sight of rows of people seated high up in the stands. It was as if he were center stage in some nightmarish drama, and he felt indescribably scared and exposed. The scaff
old was only meters away, and he trembled beneath its shadow. The crowd cheered again as the Town Crier returned to the execution platform.
“And now, the final part of the show — it’s what you’ve all been waiting for!” he shouted.
Scratcher felt his leg being kicked, and a soldier arrived at his side.
“Your turn!” said the man gruffly, and prodded Mousebeard and Drewshank with his pike.
“Remember,” whispered Mousebeard as Drewshank helped him find a footing on the stones, “you have friends, and in this world that’s the most important thing. When you have friends, there’s always hope. Don’t give up yet.”
Scragneck and two other pirates were also told to get up and pushed toward the scaffold. As the first of the pirates reached the platform, the crowd fell silent in wait for the great Mousebeard. Scragneck stepped up, looking out for any onlooker who dared to make eye contact. Drewshank followed them up the wooden steps, nerves shaking every muscle in his body. Nothing could have prepared him for such a feeling. The crowd let out a gasp as Mousebeard appeared on the steps, and a cheer burst out that almost lifted the roofs from their buildings.
As soon as Mousebeard stepped off land and onto the platform over the river, his breathing loosened, his eyes cleared, and he felt strength seeping back into his legs. The water coursing below his feet gave him power and the strength to stand on his own — if a little shakily. No matter how much he hated being tied to the sea, the feeling of being back on water filled his soul with determination, and a vengeful light appeared in his eyes. The executioner hurried him along to a noose and stood him alongside Drewshank, and the crowds roared their loudest.
Scratcher felt disoriented as he walked the length of the platform to the final empty noose. The noise and sights muddied his thoughts. He spied the crowd, but as hard as he tried he couldn’t see Emiline. He was confident she’d tried everything she could to save them, but what could she do now? As he reached his position, the executioner draped the rough rope noose over his head. Mr. Droob shouted out angrily, and he rushed along the platform, his hands waving in the air with frustration. “Nobody mentioned that a child would be up here!” he said. He tugged Scratcher’s rope and started measuring it.
“Oh, but it’s not going to be right!” he cursed, looking around for his assistant. Mr. Droob had to get everything right.
The executioner glowered at him.
“I didn’t plan for this,” he muttered. “You’ll have to wait!”
“Lord Battersby, sir,” said Spires, catching up with the man on his way to join Lady Pettifogger and the Mayor in the grandest box on the tallest of the viewing stands. Miserley was walking alongside with a member of the Old Town Guard. She noted the butler’s arrival with a look of disdain.
“Ah, Spires,” said Battersby, “it’s all going well, eh?”
“Absolutely, sir. Have you seen Mr. Lovelock at all?”
Lord Battersby smiled. “He’s due to make his entrance any moment now.”
“Good, good,” said the butler.
Battersby reached the base of the stand, where two soldiers stood guarding the stairs to the seating.
“Well, I must leave you all,” he said to Miserley and the guard as he made his way up. “Keep me informed of any findings!”
With that, the guard walked off, his rifle over his shoulder, and Miserley stood staring at Spires.
“What?” she said firmly.
“You look like a mousekeeper,” he said, listening to the crowd cheer wildly in the background.
“And what of it?”
“I knew a girl your age who was a terrific mousekeeper, with blond hair and a little Grey Mouse. I just wondered if you knew her?”
Miserley sensed something odd in the butler’s tone.
“What?” she asked with feigned confusion.
Since Battersby had left, the crowd had swelled into the area, trying to get a better view in what limited space there was. Spires stood motionless, but his face was stern.
“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” she said, swaying slightly with the bustle of the crowd.
“You don’t know Emiline?” he asked, moving a step closer to the girl. Spires knew it was now or never. “Are you sure?”
As soon as they’d been totally consumed by the crowd, Spires grabbed the girl. His hands squeezed hold of her wrists and he twisted her sharply around before she could clutch her weapons. He took hold of her mousing belt and tugged sharply, breaking the metal clasp and tearing it from her as she attempted to kick out. The mousebox attached to it came away freely, and he pushed her forward into the surging crowd — her cries of frustration smothered by moving bodies.
Making sure no one had seen his actions, Spires turned and tore off toward the scaffold and to where Emiline stood waiting.
Mr. Droob continued measuring Scratcher’s rope as the executioner freed the chains on all the other prisoners’ legs. A soldier stood next to Mousebeard and made sure he was upright. Nooses were looped over their heads, and the crowd’s chanting of “Mousebeard” grew ever louder.
“Havin’ to die next to a worthless privateer,” spat Scragneck, hissing under his breath, “is worse than having yer eyes poked out wiv mouse horns!”
“Shut up!” growled Drewshank, looking to the sky. He breathed in and found his mouth felt like sandpaper.
“Leave him to die angry,” said Mousebeard gruffly.
Drewshank glanced at the pirate and noticed his beard twitching. He hadn’t seen it do that since his mice had been taken away.
Once again, the Town Crier returned to the platform and marched along in front of the condemned.
“And so here we are, and here he is in his last moments . . . the pirate Mousebeard.”
The crowd went wild.
“Shhh!” he said noisily, bouncing his hands up and down to quiet the crowd.
“But we’ve one more surprise for all you patient onlookers . . . .”
He paused for effect and then pointed to a carriage moving through the densely packed wharf.
“Let me welcome the world-famous mouse collector, Isiah Lovelock!”
The crowd fell silent with reverence. Most of them had never seen the man out in public before. The carriage stopped at the base of the scaffold, and Lovelock stepped cautiously down. He looked along the river and hesitated before walking onto the platform. He seemed to be breathing lightly, as though the salty air that flew down from the sea was not to his liking.
Mousebeard saw the man and let out a stifled laugh.
“Finally, we get to meet . . . ,” said the pirate.
“You have to go,” said Spires, moving easily through the silenced crowd toward Emiline.
“What?” she said. “But Miserley, Scratcher . . . ”
The butler pushed the mousebox into Emiline’s hand, and she heard a bright squeak from its inside.
“Spires!” she said happily. “You did it!”
“I did, but she’s still out there and will be intent on getting her own back. You must leave now. Go back to Algernon, otherwise everything could fail.”
Emiline prized open the mousebox, and a sprightly Portly rushed up her arm and came to rest under her hair.
“Go, Emiline! What are you waiting for?”
The butler’s tone was insistent. Emiline wanted to hug the man, but he was looking at her sternly.
“Go!”
“Thank you, Mr. Spires,” she said, running away as fast as she could.
With Lovelock’s first step onto the platform he felt his chest ache. He stopped and clutched his heart before proceeding further. It was as though his blood were freezing. He stumbled slightly, but then righted himself, and took a few short breaths. Mousebeard watched keenly as the man struggled over the decking toward him.
Both of them felt a buzzing within their bodies: a tingling from the toes to the top of their heads. It was as though sparks of electricity were gathering between and around them. Drewshank looked from left t
o right, watching both men with amazement. A blue light was now forming around the platform, emanating from the mortal enemies and getting brighter as they grew closer.
The crowd began chattering in excitement — they weren’t exactly sure what they were witnessing. It was clear that there was something unearthly about the two men. As Lovelock walked farther along, passing the vile Scragneck, the executioner approached him.
“You all right, sir?” he asked.
“I’m fine! Yes!” he said, waving the man away. Lovelock was in control of the pain in his body, but it was growing stronger and stronger with every second.
“Jonathan,” said Lovelock, his face fading from its usual gray color to white, “I’m glad to see you’re finally in the place where you belong.”
Mousebeard shifted his neck to move the noose slightly then looked straight into Lovelock’s eyes.
“I’m glad to see the curse still affects you too,” he said. “Your breathing is heavy. Your chest hurts. As we speak your life is seeping away. Just being this far from land clearly makes you feel as bad as it makes me feel good.”
“But I had to see you one last time, old friend,” Lovelock said bitterly. “I can cope with a small amount of pain just to enjoy your downfall. That old witch thought she could separate us for ever, but how wrong she was. And with you dead, the curse must die too.”
“You’ll never be free of me, Isiah, whether in this world or the next.”
“You’re a dead man, Jonathan. You’re of no bother to me now.”
As he finished speaking, Lovelock staggered slightly, and a ripple ran through the crowd. He pulled himself together and walked away from Mousebeard.
“And thanks for your help, Drewshank,” he added breathlessly before stepping down. “You’ve been most helpful — I’m just so sorry it had to end in this way.”
Drewshank growled like a true pirate.
Lovelock left the platform and raised his hand for the execution to resume. The drums started up again, rolling faster and faster. The soldier at Mousebeard’s side walked away.
