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One day, a ship the likes of which Picaro had never seen limped into Squal Parlor. It was even bigger than the ship the free men had sailed in on. A massive, twin-masted vessel gilded with notes of silver. It held many windows along its sides, and Picaro saw cannons rimming the top of its bulk. Though, it had taken heavy damage. One of the mast's was listing and its sail was furled. It had significant damage closer to stern, and Picaro heard something about a rudder. In fact, the first thing the crew did when they secured it was throw heaps of wood debris upon the dock.

The ship belonged to a haughty merchant, an aged man with a bulbous nose and a piercing stare. The merchant was quite flustered in how he addressed the dock workers. "I need a shipwright immediately," he said and muttered impatiently until the man was summoned. After some brisk conversation in muddled tones, the merchant raised his voice again. "What was your name again? Archibald? And how soon did you say?"

Archibald, the shipwright, cocked his head. "Three tendays. Well, maybe I could do it in two and a half."

The merchant scoffed. "You expect me to stay here until after the new moon? Do you know who I am? I am Master Wilmerfeld Goffrey, and my time is money, friend. Every day I stay here I am hemorrhaging gold at the market. More than you’d make in several lifetimes. You have within a tenday, at the most. I’ll accept nothing less.”

“But sir, think of the safety of yerself and the crew,” Archibald implored.

“By the depths, why am I taking advice from you? Just find a way to get it done. You’re being paid more than is right, by all the scales I’ve seen in Parley.”

The shipwright shrunk back. “Material is harder to come by out here. I have to make a living.”

“So you’re expensive and you’re making excuses. Listen, bilgerat, I’ve tried talking easy with you. If you need to, we can have a more in-depth conversation to make things clear.” Mister Goffrey nodded to several men behind him, and Picaro surveyed them for the first time. They were hard nosed, salty men, all of them. Picaro thought they could have been free men had they not been in Mister Goffrey’s employ. He doubted that any conversation with them would go easy.

The shipwright held up his large, weathered hands in surrender. “Listen, I don’t want no trouble. I can do my best, I promise ye, but I can’t guarantee nothing until I’ve had a good look at the ship.”

Mister Goffrey narrowed his gaze. ”Are there no other shipwrights on this wretched island?”

“There are, but I have to say, and not on my own word, that it’s said I’m the best there is in the Squal. I’ve definitely been in this business the longest, and I see all the big vessels that come into port. Just how it’s been,” said Archibald with a sort of dignified humility. Mister Goffrey ground his teeth and reddened, but only snorted his indignation and shook his head.

“Fine. Then I expect quick results,” he said before straightening and walking briskly down the dock. A shorter man with a thin mustache hurried beside him, holding an umbrella to cover him from the sun. Picaro watched them go, instantly curious.

Mister Goffrey took up quick residence at the Pearlbow Inn, the nicest inn in town. And by residence, Picaro learned it meant the entire building. Wilmerfeld Goffrey bought out the place and kicked out the innkeeper as a part of the deal. The man was paid handsomely for his trouble, but he was not allowed to enter his own establishment until Mister Goffrey and his company lifted anchor from Squal Parlor. And that turned into a long while.

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What Mister Goffrey demanded be done within a tenday indeed stretched into three. The rudder was badly damaged and needed replacing, and so did one of the main masts. There was also extensive damage below deck, which required much labor, and they came to find out the keel needed repair as well.

As it neared a tenday, Mister Goffrey went to check on Archibald’s progress, and was well displeased. He sent his men to have a conversation with the shipwright. Mister Goffrey’s men made sure to avoid the eyes and fingers so that Archibald could still hammer a nail. Even so, the shipwright could barely lift a hammer when they were through. He limped to the dock the next morning, but was still able to oversee that the work was done well. And so Mister Goffrey took up residence at the Pearlbow inn and did not budge.

Picaro spent the first few days in awe of the ship. The majestic vessel was beached to make way for repair, and the boy marveled at what they must have encountered for it to suffer such terrible injuries. He wondered if it was because of sea monsters, or maybe a crew of free men. Maybe captain Coldblue and his crew had tried to ransack this ship. But then why would the merchant end up here? Maybe he didn't know, Picaro wondered, and the boy imagined the pirate ship pulling in to port to finish the job, scimitars waving. It made Picaro smile, for Mister Goffrey was a harsh man and his pride was brittle.

When the repairs had been delayed, Picaro noticed the merchant began to drink a lot. The morning after much drink, Mister Goffrey would often became moody and bitter. He would sometimes beat his servants or even commoners on the street with his cane. He sometimes instructed his men to do the same. People began to fear him greatly.

The only man the merchant wasn’t harsh to was his butler, the man with the thin mustache who’s name Picaro found to be Edmun, who was a staunchly loyal and subservient man, and quite intelligent. Edmun was always by his master’s side. He knew his master’s moods and could often anticipate his requests. The only time Picaro did not see Edmun standing still as stone behind Mister Goffrey’s shoulder was when the merchant bade his butler run an errand. Edmun was like a well-trained dog, Picaro thought, he did as he was told and he did it gladly.

Yet the only thing that seemed to make Mister Goffrey smile was money. So to appease his master’s ire and free him from his foul mood while he was stuck in Squal Parlor, Edmun convinced Mister Goffrey to pursue trade.

Mister Goffrey opened up his wares. He purveyed them on a magnificent wooden cart, colored green and gilded with gold, whose doors opened to reveal a magnificent display. Arrayed before and behind the purveyor were stacks of well-made shelves which supported goods of all kinds. Beautiful textiles, both patterns and pieces. Pottery, small ornate tools, and stacks of rich leather. Rows of small, glittering gems. Picaro even saw a dagger with a golden hilt. It was a wonderful, shifting assortment, and Mister Goffrey seemed to most enjoy showing off his collection. It seemed almost entertainment enough to watch the common folk gawk at his unique array of treasures.

One day, an elderly woman approached the merchant with a silver locket she said had been in her family for three generations. She begged the merchant to give her a fair price for it. “Only if you’re willing. Things have been hard,” she said. For a few minutes Mister Goffrey eyed the item, then handed it to Edmun, who inspected it with a magnifying glass before handing it back and nodding.

“I’ll give you seven silver for it,” said Mister Goffrey, to which the woman accepted through bitter tears. It was then noted that the merchant was not opposed to buying goods, either. And so people people brought him old heirlooms, freshly made textiles, trinkets and baubles, and Goffrey paid for some. He liked interesting, unique things, Picaro noticed.

So money traded hands, and Mister Goffrey continued to entertain himself. He took to staying out in the square until evening where he enjoyed his drink. Torches were lit and people came to revel and hope for coin. Men played instruments, and some danced. Drink was poured. And so Mister Goffrey made treatise, flaunting his wealth for all to see. He paid more when he was drunk, men whispered.

But the merchant got too drunk all too often, and Picaro noticed his tastes quickly receded to more novel experiences like violence and ridicule. It made the boy angry. What a fool, he thought, all that money and it wasn’t doing anyone any good. Picaro decided he he would do what he could to further lighten Mister Goffrey’s purse. I’d spend it better, he thought.

The next day, as Mister Goffrey went out for his morning stroll, nursing his head from drink, he struck a stuck pregnant woman with his cane for stumbling into him. Picaro saw the altercation from a side alley. It made him boil. All that was left to be decided was how.