Lafitte raised an eyebrow at his lookout. For someone who’d never put much stock by gods and goddesses of any kind, it was quite odd to be at the wrong end of one’s wrath.
“Yes, very short-sighted,” Lafitte said, instinctively reaching inside the jacket for his cigarette supplies but scowling when he discovered there was no pocket. He’d left them in his own jacket, and they were probably soaked.
Lafitte shook his head. “Well, I told you to grab everything of value off that ship,” he said. “Still, you should’ve known better than to take idols from the Spriggan wizard.”
Lafitte sighed. Well, no sense in getting pissed at him now, he thought. At this point the important thing was to make sure the bitch didn’t stay pissed at a member of his crew for too much longer, especially not one as vital as Farseer.
“What did Tayliana have to say about it? Any ideas on how to appease her?” he asked, gulping down the rest of his ale and taking a look around the room. “And if you have any theories on that, Lord Nightwise, I’d definitely appreciate it,” he continued.
The last thing Jean Lafitte needed was a hurricane following him around wherever he went. Last time he’d encountered that scenario, he’d lost even his own reality…