Well look who it is! As I live and breath. If it ain’t the high-society man o’ books hisself. Craven Stirge. Struttin around like a peacock.
Arrogant fuckin bastard. Thought you could keep me locked away like a rabid cur, didn’t ye? Toss the key away, ye said. How’d that work for ye?
I’ve relished the thought of this day. The day ye’d be crawling back to ol’ Jonah Sterling cus ye ain’t got the stomach fer what needs bein done.
And here ye are gov’ner. Darknenin me door again.
Yeah, I’ll take care of it fer ye. But I reckon it’ll cost ye a pretty penny this time. It’ll take more than a few sovereigns to account for stuffin me in a dark oubliette with nothin but me gall and the sewer rats.
I might not want to go back in me cage again so soon. I might want to enjoy the air a bit. Have me pleasure a while.
What’s that? Ne’er go asking a man like meself what he plans to be doin. Better ye stay ignorant of me ways and means.
But I promise ye – there will be blood. Rivers and oceans of blood.