Another horrible chapter down. Again, sorry for the delay. My posting rate is possibly going to get a bit haphazard; my hours are extending at my job, which means I have less free time to write.

The next installment will be an interlude, followed by another chapter and then two more interludes. I know the interludes don't do much for advancing the story, but I like writing them – it gives me a chance to take a break from focusing on plot so I can focus on the characters. It also gives me time to figure out what exactly isgoing to happen next.

As always, many thanks for the reviews. Also, if you have any questions about the story too, please let me know. I'm more than happy to answer them.

Chapter Five
September 21, 1934
Bombay

Early in the second afternoon of waiting, three lorries pulled up in front of the Venture's dock, and a dozen men in blue jerseys and dungarees emerged from the vehicles. Seeing them relieved Laura more than she cared to admit.

The first day of waiting had ended with more sexual propositions than Laura could count, and most of them had come with offers of money attached. Laura took these with a calm face and a gentle refusal, which most men knew meant they were dealing with a lady and not some wharf whore. In the morning, she'd had to fend of the real businesswomen of the docks, but once she'd shown she had no intention of moving in on their work, they left her alone. Instead, they turned their interest to Robert, who smelled of easy money, and most of the day, he had to fend off their advances. Laura told him to go back to the hotel if it bothered him so much, but he refused to leave her alone on the docks. She humored him by letting him think she needed him.

The next morning, she denied Bridget's request to accompany her to the docks without explaining the reasons. When she tried to do the same with Denham, he retorted that he wasn't a debutante to be bossed around by some high society matron. She found no argument for that.

"Recognize anyone?" she asked as the crew tumbled out of the three lorries.

"No," Denham replied, and he moved about to get a better look at the men. "They've all got those hats on. Do you see John?"

"Not yet," she lied. She'd spotted John as soon as he got out of the second lorry, but she waited for Denham to initiate contact with the crew. How the captain reacted to him would make a difference in how she approached the situation.

The white cap gave away the captain, but without it, the barked orders and commanding presence would have done the job. She found nothing extraordinary about him, except perhaps the confident way he carried himself and the no-nonsense way he dealt with his men. He had the world-weary look of a man who had seen much, and she recognized in him the touch of war that haunted so many of the men she knew. Even at a distance, she heard the German accent evident in his words.

"Englehorn!" Denham called. He raised an arm and waved it over his head, but the captain continued his work.

"A little closer, perhaps?" Laura suggested.

Without waiting for the men, she strolled over to the docks, her hands clasped behind her back. The sailor flocked around the three lorries, their movements quick but not hurried. A middle-aged Cockney man started a round of singing, and Laura smiled. They weren't all hunters then, or if they were, they were sailors first and foremost. The reasons why escaped her, but living and working on a boat made men the most musical creatures on Earth.

They produced a tiger, caged and chloroformed, from each of the trucks:a tigress and her juvenile cubs. Laura estimated that the juvenilesweren't quite two years old – young enough to remain with their mother and old enough to do damage on their own.

Denham caught up with her, calling the captain's name again. This time, the muscles in Englehorn's back and shoulders tightened, and he turned around, an unreadable expression on his weathered face. Stretching a hand out in greeting, Denham continued forward; Robert followed closely as Laura strolled behind them.

"You have no idea how glad I am to see you," Denham said.

Englehorn responded by drawing back his arm and landing a punch to Denham's chin. He must have pulled it before impact; the force was enough to push Denham back and throw him off balance, but he was relatively unharmed. Robert stepped forward to catch him under the armpits, grunting a little as the director fell back into him. Denham gazed at the captain with an expression of utter amazement.

"Englehorn," he said, "what –"

"Stay the hell away from me," Englehorn interjected, jabbing a finger at Denham. "Crazy son of a bitch."

Denham pulled himself away from Robert, brushing himself off and readjusting his jacket. He gestured to Laura and said, "Please, Englehorn, there's a lady present."

Laura waved a dismissive hand. "No, that's alright. I've wanted to do that for at least two weeks now." She held out her hand to Englehorn and said, "Laura Ashfield."

Englehorn ignored her hand, instead staring at her with an unreadable expression. Finally, he said, rather loudly, "Ashfield?"

One of Laura's eyebrows raised, but from behind Englehorn came an answering, "Sir?" A sailor separated himself from the others and came toward the captain.

Nothing about John distinguished from the rest of Englehorn's crew, physically speaking. Average height, average build, average looks – he had always been a man of bland appearance, which he preferred. He wore the same clothes as his crewmates, and like many of them, he looked as though he could stand for a hot shower and a good shave. His hands were calloused and roughened from hard work, and his skin had tanned from frequent exposure to the sun.

But no matter how much he looked like the men with whom he worked, Laura knew him with only a glance. The way he walked gave him away to her, as did the gentle way he talked to the drugged tigress and the boisterous way he sang along with the Cockney shantyman. How could she not recognize him? Until the age of twelve, he had been her closest companion, the one who had taught her how to hold her own in a fight and appreciate the beauty of a good poem. They'd been inseparable until they went off to boarding school in England, and then they'd both grown up, despite all their efforts.

"Hello, John," she said.

"Laura?" He squinted at her as thought he wasn't sure of who he was looking at. "What the devil are you doing here?"

"Trying to earn an honest living. I assume it's the same thing you're doing."

Robert pushed past Denham to stand next to Laura. "Actually, we're here about the boat."

"What?" Englehorn said.

"Pleasantries first, Bobby," said John, shaking a finger at Robert. "Wait until you're introduced before you get down to business. Captain Englehorn, this is my sister, Miss Laura Ashfield, and my brother Robert Ashfield. I believe you've met Mr. Denham."

Englehorn crossed his arms over his chest. "Is there a purpose for this reunion? I have cargo to deal with."

Laura bowed her head in a placating gesture. "A moment of your time is all I request. It concerns a business matter." Denham opened his mouth, but she placed a hand on his shoulder. "Some space, if you please?"

A second passed before he nodded and stepped away with Robert. The two men turned to face the other side of the street, and Denham pulled his pipe out of a pocket. Neither of them spoke.

"You came all the way from the States with a business proposition?" Englehorn said. "If it's about the Island, you're wasting your time."

"It's not about the Island."

Englehorn glanced at Denham.

Laura chose her words with care, trying to keep them direct and uncomplicated. "I don't work for Denham. I represent a man named Beaufort, an American businessman. He would like to hire the Venture to transport a load of cargo to California, which we understand is already your destination."

The captain's stance loosened, and he cocked his head to the side. "What's the cargo?"

"Passengers, actually," she said, and quickly, she added, "Eight total, that's all."

"No," Englehorn said. He had tensed again, and she sensed that she had just lost any ground she might have gained. "I no longer take passengers; you can ask Denham why that is."

"He's on Beaufort's payroll," said Laura, "and Beaufort can assure you he won't cause trouble."

John glanced at Englehorn and then back to Laura. He said, "It's not a cruise ship, Laura."

"We don't want a cruise ship," she replied, and she felt her patience begin to slip away from her.

"I'm done discussing this," Englehorn said.

He walked away, back to the lorries, and Laura started to follow him. John blocked her path, holding onto her arms.

"He's made up his mind," he told her, "and I don't blame him. Beaufort and Denham together is sure to be a dangerous mixture."

"Blast the two of them," she said and pulled out of his grip. "I came here to see you. If he doesn't want the others on his boat, that's fine. I can't blame him either. But you and Robert and I need to get to New York as quickly as possible."

"Always eager to get to the point. Why can't you say hello like a normal person?"

"I did. What more do you want from me?"

"A moment to get my bearings, if you please," he said, putting his hands on her shoulders. He twisted her first one way and then the other, his face as serious as though he was performing a medical examination. "You look in fine health, Laura. New York's been treating you well, has it?"

Laura stamped her foot onto his, but the action was pointless, given his heavy boots. "Dammit, John, can we have a serious conversation, please?"

"We are," he replied. "I'm asking after your health. Note, you have yet to return the favor."

He hadn't changed much, after all, from that boy he'd been, who used to pull her braids and tell her ghost stories about the jungle. He'd always said the teasing was an older brother's prerogative. At any other time, she would have let him get away with it.

"Haven't you been reading the letter Mother sent?" she asked.

"Mum's always had a tendency to these things," he said with a shrug. "Remember when you had that cough in 1910? She was convinced you were dying of typhoid."

Laura decided not to show him the cable Margaret had sent, because if she hadn't seen Sir Walter's condition herself, she would have agreed with John. After watching her young brother die of tuberculosis, Margaret had a tendency to panic about the family's health. But Laura had watched her father become an invalid, withering away into a shadow of his former self. She understood her mother's urgency.

Something of these thoughts must have shown on her face, because John said, "The old boy's really that bad off?"

"He's dying, John."

He pulled her into a hug, and she allowed him to do it. His blue jersey smelled like cigarettes and the mountain jungle. As always, his mere presence comforted her; it was his habit to let her take the initiative and lead the way, but she could rely on him for support. If she asked for it, he would give it.

"You'll come, won't you?" she asked miserably.

"I can't do anything for him, Laura. Mum and I will do nothing but quarrel."

"Then don't come for them. I don't know if I can do this alone."

"You can," he assured her. "But you won't have to. Of course I'll come."

Pulling away from him, she punched his arm hard enough to make him wince. "Don't ever do that to me again. Why didn't you just say so?"

He smiled a boyish smile, full of charm and mischief. "I'm sorry. It wasn't very nice of me. I can't help it."

"You could if you tried," she replied, but she smiled back at him. She felt as if she'd found something that had been missing from her life; in a way, she supposed, that was the truth. Glancing at Englehorn – who had returned to the lorries to oversee the unloading of his tigers – she said, "Do you think he'll change his mind?"

"He's got good reasons for his decision," John said. He rubbed his chin and studied the captain, trying to gauge the man's mood.

"Yes, I understand. But Englehorn's a businessman, isn't he? Running a ship costs money."

"Why does it have to be the Venture?"

"Because it's the one Beaufort wants."

Nodding his head, John said, "And Beaufort's got the money."

"Exactly," Laura replied.

John considered for a moment. "Let me talk to him. You go at him the wrong way, it's likely to go balls up. He's not much for passengers these days."

"We'll pay whatever he asks. Double, even."

"That's a push in the right direction. Give me a few hours."

"He can come to the hotel and talk to Beaufort there."

"No," John said, shaking his head. "Best to keep Beaufort out of it. Maybe he'll be more sympathetic with you."

Laura put her hands on her hips and glared at John with narrowed eyes. "What's that mean?"

"Does it have to mean anything?" replied John, his face allguileless and unassuming. "Your face is prettier than Beaufort's, that's all I'm saying."

"John –"

He held up his hands. "Trust me. Alright?"

She sighed. "Alright."

"There's a pub, just down the street, across from the docks. It's got a laughing monkey on the sign; you can't miss it." He grabbed her wrist and checked her watch. "Not quite two. Okay, give me four hours. The cargo'll be settled; maybe he'll be in a better mood then."

"What if he doesn't change his mind?"

John gasped in mock offense. "Have you no faith, woman?"

She had no answer for that. With a mock salute from his cap, John returned to the ship, blending in with the rest of the crew. Laura joined Robert and Denham, both of whom were smoking and trying not to look worried.

"What's the verdict?" Denham asked.

"I don't know what you did to Englehorn," said Laura, "but it isn't helping our case any."

Robert's shoulders slumped. "What do we do now?"

"We wait," Laura replied. "At the hotel, preferably. We're leaving our fate in John's hands."

"You're letting John negotiate for us?" asked Denham.

"Don't worry, Carl," Laura assured him."He could talk the stripes off a tiger."

The square-shaped building was not the only English-style pub along the docks, but Laura knew it was the right one. As John had said, over the open door hung a gaily-painted sign of a monkey, its mouth open in silent laughter. It was the only colorful thing about the place. Rough plankboards covered the outer walls, grayed and splintered from years of withstanding the monsoon winds and rains. The pub was not full yet, attracting a more sedate set of customers than those who would stumble in later in the evening. For now, the patrons were sober, hungry, and quiet.

"A German," Robert said under his breath as they approached the pub.

Laura shot him a dark look. "What do you mean?"

"It's hard to imagine John working with a German," he said.

"Why?"

"Well, you know – the War and all."

She stopped dead, putting out an arm to stop him too. The foot traffic on the street was light, but pedestrians walked around them, grumbling about the sudden stop. Laura ignored them.

"You don't know anything about the War, Robert," she said, getting very close to him. His cologne almost overpowered the smell of smoke and whisky that clung to him.

He backed away, trying to put space between them, but she continued to advance on him. "I know –"

"Nothing. That's what you know. Don't say anything more about it." She turned on her heel and walked away from him.

Denham waited for her at the pub's doorway. "Interesting place for a business meeting," he said to Laura.

"Are you worried?" she asked, glancing inside. Most of the customers were having dinner, and a few men nursed drinks at the bar. She saw no women, but she knew that would change as the evening wore on.

"Of course not," replied Denham, and he grinned. She believed him; a group of placid sailors wouldn't unnerve him. These men made up a potential audience as far as he was concerned. "Are you? These men aren't likely to be used to women like you."

"I'm not here for them," she replied and stepped across the threshold.

John met her as she entered the pub and saluted her with a mug of watery beer. He pointed a finger at Denham and said, "Why'd you bring him?"

"I couldn't chain him to the hotel bar. He insisted on coming."

"He's put Englehorn in a bad mood."

"I empathize."

"You should've come alone."

Robert butted in, saying, "I'm the head guide here. Beaufort hired me first; she's supposed to be my assistant."

John stared at him a moment before saying, "I didn't realize how poor the situation was at home."

"It could be worse," Laura said. "We might have had no jobs. Where's Englehorn?"

John pointed to a table in the corner, well-lit by an overhead electric lamp. The captain was in the process of finishing off a meal of meat and potatoes, and he ate while reading over a leather-bound notebook. He didn't look up as Laura led the other men toward him.

"How did it go?" she asked John.

"Push the money," he advised. "He needs it."

"Who doesn't?" said Robert.

John tapped him on the shoulder and said, "Let Laura do the talking."

Robert bristled, frowning. "Why?"

"Because no one takes you seriously."

If Robert had a retort for that, he didn't get the chance to use it. Englehorn remained seated when Laura came to a stop in front of him, but he nodded to her and put down his fork.

"Miss Ashfield," he said, "your brother is a persuasive man."

"He knows how important this is to our family," she replied. John pulled out a chair for her, and she sat without breaking eye contact with Englehorn. "Thank you for speaking with me again."

Englehorn closed the book – a ledger, Laura guessed – and said, "My condolences, for your father. I know what it is to lose someone you love."

"Then you must understand my impatience to get home."

"There are plenty of other boats in this harbor," he said.

"Yours is the only one with John Ashfield on it. Will you take us or not?"

Rubbing a hand across his stubbly chin, he took a deep breath. "Eight passengers, you said?"

She nodded.

"Tell me about them."

"Leisure hunters, from an American club called the Orion Society. They came to India to hunt tiger. They got what they came for. Now they'd like to go home."

He picked up his fork again and speared a wedge of potato. "Are you a hunter too, Miss Ashfield? Is that why you came with them to Bombay?"

"I do have experience hunting tiger. Beaufort hired me as a guide."

For the next several moments, Englehorn finished off his meal in silence, washing it down with a swig from his mug. She waited, her hands held neatly in her lap, the picture of a proper English lady. She knew better than to hurry him.

Finally, he set down his beer and regarded her with hooded eyes. He said, "It won't be cheap."

"I understand."

"Do you know what the going rate is?"

"I'm not interested in the going rate. I want to know your rate."

He gave it to her. Denham and Robert glanced uncertainly at each other. High as it was, Laura thought it reasonable; after the amount of trouble Denham had brought with him last time, Englehorn had a right to ask for whatever amount pleased him.

"Done," she said.

"Laura," said Robert, and he leaned toward her. She gave him a gentle push and shook her head.

Englehorn leaned back in his chair. "You don't want to haggle with me?" He seemed more amused than disappointed.

"Will you go lower?" she asked.

"No," he said without hesitation.

"Then there's no sense in wasting our time."

Pressing his lips together, Englehorn gazed at Laura for several moments. She could see him working it out in his head – he might not want the passengers, but he wanted the money. If he had asked for more, she would have given it to him, even if Beaufort complained about it later. But he had given her no limits, and she believed that he wanted on the Venture as badly as she did. That warning she planned to give to Englehorn only after he agreed to the arrangement.

"Mr. Ashfield," he said.

John straightened, a reflex from his Navy days. "Sir?"

"If I take your family on board, you will vouch for them?"

"You won't have any problems with them, captain."

Looking up at him, Englehorn said, "Just answer the question."

"I'll account for them, sir."

Englehorn nodded, but he looked none too pleased with the prospect. To Laura, he said, "Beaufort's money is good?"

"I don't know if he can give you that much cash," she replied, "but my checks have all cleared. Money has never been a problem for Beaufort."

Again, he nodded, as though trying to convince himself that he wasn't making a mistake. "I feel I may end up regretting this. Rest assured, Miss Ashfield, you will be back in the States in little more than a month."

"Good man!" Denham cried, clapping the captain on the back.

"Not you, though," Englehorn said. He shrugged his shoulders and pulled away from Denham's hand. "You will stay the hell away from me, my crew, and my boat."

Denham chuckled, like it was some kind of joke. "You can't just leave me here."

"I can, and I will." Englehorn's gaze slid back to Laura. "Do you have a problem with that?"

"Not at all."

"Laura!"

"Sorry, Carl. I'm sure Beaufort can make arrangements for you elsewhere. There are plenty of passenger ships docked." All innocence, she smiled. "You deserve a break, after all the hard work you've put in for him."

Sputtering, Denham glanced between the two unyielding faces and knew that he had experience another of those defeats that served to slow him down, if only for the moment. He grabbed Robert's elbow and dragged him away from the table, heading for the bar.

Englehorn watched him go. "You have poor choice in company, Miss Ashfield."

"We do what we must to survive."

"Don't the English have a saying about lying down with dogs?"

"I can handle a few fleas, Captain." She offered her hand over the table and added, "Is it a deal?"

He hesitated, and she realized he was staring at her scarred, gnarled hand. She could read nothing in his expression, and then his warm, calloused hand engulfed hers.

They shook on it.