“You want something to eat?” Dockson said, rising. “Clubs’s housekeepers fixed some baywraps for us to—” “Ale,” Vin said. Dockson hesitated. “It’s not even noon.” “Ale. Now. Please.” She leaned forward, folding her arms on the table and resting her head on them. Ham had the nerve to chuckle. “Pewter drag?” Vin nodded. “It’ll pass,” he said. “If I don’t die first,” Vin grumbled.
