The scolding of Ionas Farseer echoed through the empty space of the jail at Kledy Keep. As the last words reverberated away, the spriggan pirates stared, open-mouthed, at the selkie. So did the Kledy guardian.
Bom Boneshred’s mouth, however, slowly closed into a gritting snarl, and his wide eyes widened further and blazed with fiery rage.
“Why…you…” he slowly growled, his fetid breath coming in bubbling hisses through his teeth, as his sallow skin reddened and he seemed to swell and grow in size, “… you pestilent maggot! Tell you about the Reputation’s mast? I’ll bugger you with her mast, you festering fish-raping shrew-fondler!”
The iron bars rang as the spriggan captain threw himself at them, lunging with a heavy, clawing hand for Ionas’s thin throat.
“Come here, you filthy coward,” he roared, “I’ll shove you up my steaming posterior, you crusty little corkscrew! I’ll–”
“All right, enough of that,” shouted the guardian brandishing his baton at the prisoner. He shot a baleful look at Ionas, the cause of the storm. “And enough for you, too, I think. Off with you now.”
It was fairly obvious that, whatever Ionas had been hoping to learn, Bom Boneshred was in no mood to talk about his lost vessel, the Reputation. Perhaps his mourning was too fresh.