Smoke waited until he was gone and the crew had turned their attentions to their cups and their dice before pulling out a pipe and leaning into me like a plotter. “Come upside and let’s see if I can’t sway you,” he said. “The helm’s a far portlier ketch than a dead man’s chest with a faun.” I nodded but looked away before he could spot the stinging of my eyes. Smoke would probably cancel the offer if he sniffed out emotion, and I respected that about him.
